All For My Brother
by didez905
Summary: When the bloodied body of a slain musketeer is publically left for all Paris to see, Captain Treville trusts no one but his inseparable four to be on the case. A revengeful plight against the regiment, rather than a simple accident, is implied; leaving almost every soldier in the musketeer garrison praying that they are not the next victim.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was the rotting corpse of a king's musketeer that was placed like a mere decoration on one of the rooftops in the musketeer's garrison, overlooking the streets of Paris, that left all onlookers below swallowing their morning meal that was rising up in their throats. Like a piece of art, was it displayed for all to see when the sun had yet announced another day and had shined on the corpse that was stripped down to bloody underclothes.

The sightless eyes of the musketeer stared blindly at all who walked nearby the scene, as if death was on the lookout for its next victim. The grisly image of blood pooling down like rain down the rooftop directly where Captain Treville's office lay, indicated more than just a brutal murder.

The death of a musketeer was a common fate, for they were soldiers bred to fight and die for the glory of France and its king. There was no passing of one day without the thought of death lurking around the next corner for every man who signed away his life for soldiering. It was expected. But the murder of a musketeer, and the public humiliation and display of their broken corpse was not. One would rather not be caught in the messy affairs of rueful killings of honorable men, for the price that they would pay wouldn't be worth the act of spite.

But this was more than just a simple killing of an honorable man. It was a disgraceful message for all of Paris to see. A continuation of another message that just became clearer. For three days earlier when the broken body of musketeer Gifford Pierpont was found laid to rest in front of the garrison gate and left unrecognizable with his blood puddled on the dirt walkway below, one could safely have assumed that it had been a mistake on his own part. His drunkenness was an addicting sin that most of the garrison made note of and predicted to be the death of him. All that saw his bloodied body knew that he finally had paid for his sin.

It was rumored that a gruesome tavern skirmish left the man crumpled on the bar's floor like a puppet with no strings. The men held responsible for his death tossed his body near the front gates of the garrison and ran off never to be located. It was a story believed to be true, for Gifford was known to sometimes cause uproars in his drunken state and cause many disputes among his friends. For honorable men, it has been said, are still all sinners nevertheless. In this case, it was noted that Gifford's death was the result of his sin.

It was never thought of again, that is, until the second body seemed to shed a different light on the previous musketeer's death. Both bodies were identically stripped of the musketeer uniform and left for the eyes of the entire musketeer regiment. Gifford's death ruled as an accident, was a painful mistake. His death was only just the beginning of a sinful game someone was playing. And Captain Treville had missed the first move.

The message was now visually clear. "Down with the Musketeers" didn't have to be written on their foreheads to make the message any clearer.

"Bring him down."

Captain Treville's voice sounded sickly and unrecognizable to his men standing on the roof awaiting the orders to cut away the ropes that bound the dead man up on high. The men began their cutting and quickly the corpse gave way and slid down near the edge of the rooftop to be caught before falling a couple of feet unto the already soiled ground near the eating tables.

With blood splattered all over the wooden benches where the men once sat to enjoy a decent meal after their duties, one could safely assume that the eating habits of this regiment would change rapidly until the scenario would blow over. Turning away from the spectacle of men lowering the broken corpse with a rope around his waist, Treville finally noticed Athos standing beside him. For how long he had been there, he did not know, but having his lieutenant nearby and not hung up on some flagpole above Paris was a small relief.

"Who was it?" Athos' voice seemed also disturbed and dark, but more so tired. It was the voice of someone recuperating from ill-timed hangover, or the lack of a decent night's sleep. The normal morning routine for Athos, Treville understood.

The captain stood quietly before answering and fully acknowledged the form of Athos, noticing instantly the slightly darker circles under his eyes and his tipped hat that tried so very hard to cover it up. He understood and sympathized the tired man that stood before him. But who could blame him? The captain himself felt in the same spirits. It seemed like the sun had only been up for a few moments of time before the screams of the discovery awoken all of Paris in their beds.

The probability of the king's courts knowing about the incident was no argument, for even before Treville laid eyes on the scene himself, he had heard the story over a thousand times gossiped before stepping outside of his quarters. The rumors already spread like wildfire. The king was already ordering for an audience, no doubt. It was certainly no morning to wake to. Not for him, not for Athos, not for Paris.

"Elloy. Poor soul," The captain finally responded while he wiped his brow. He lacked of his tan leather jacket and feathered hat that he would normally attire himself in. His half-dressed appearance didn't warrant any questions or comments from all his soldiers that surrounded him. The situation at hand caused discombobulation among every human being behind the gates of Paris.

"How they got him up there, we'll never know. The shame of it all. An unhealthy embarrassment to our regiment," He stressed more at the latter part of his sentence.

Athos didn't answer. He breathed in the sickly air that floated around them, and felt queasy. An irregularity to his hardened spirit.

"We were quick to judge Gifford for his drunken actions," Treville continued, "He dealt with our same killer here. The same style. Most likely the same motive. The question is why we didn't catch it?"

They both stood in a silence that surrounded the entire garrison, as the corpse now was wrapped in an off-white sheet to be carried out of public view as discreetly as possible. If that was even possible.

"Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan?" Athos asked while still glancing respectively at the body as it passed.

"Already sent them up," Treville answered while turning around to notice one of the king's messengers riding through the garrison gates. "Great. A summons no doubt," he sighed a sigh of annoyance then continued looking back at Athos, "We have a matter of highest importance to discuss and I trust no one better than the four of you to find who was responsible for this. Once I deal with this, I'll be along shortly."

A nod was all Athos decided to give the captain as he started to walk away and climb the stairs that led up to where his friends were waiting, while the Captain dealt with the king's messenger who dismounted quickly from his horse. Even the stairs were covered in blood as he walked up.

* * *

"Maybe 'e's even hired someone to carry this out like last time," Porthos' voice sounded more than upset. Like a volcano waiting to explode, he paced the captain's office, not daring to look out the windows displaying the scene in the courtyard below. His hands were clenched into fists, ready to punch the brains out of the murderer's head.

Aramis and d'Artagnan kept a healthy distance away from the steaming man for the time being.

"The Cardinal's involvement would be too risky, my friend, even suicidal to come up with a scheme such as this," Aramis explained while running his hands through his hair -still wet after a quick morning wash- unconsciously. "We would be wasting our time looking into the Cardinal's business, it would be simply be unfruitful work."

"But who could hate the Musketeers more than 'im? Hmmmm? And his bloody red guards?"

"No, no, Aramis is right," The youngest of the trio standing in the middle of the Captain's office decided to cut in. "He wouldn't risk it. This is something more...more a bit personal. A personal threat against the Captain perhaps? Or a group of us? I don't know."

"Like an old acquaintance or foe holding some sort of a grudge, you're saying?" Aramis considered the thought.

"The Cardinal," Porthos muttered beneath his breath.

Aramis annoyingly glazed over at the bigger man, trying to ignore the man's comments, but also at the same time tried to calm down his frightful attitude before the Cardinal himself would be found tied to the top of the Louvre.

"Right," d'Artagnan continued. "Excluding the Cardinal, who with an utter hatred would want to discredit the musketeer regiment?"

"Some criminal, perhaps," Aramis thought out loud. "Some law breaking citizen who felt compelled to get back at the ones responsible for putting them away for a long period of time. I mean, I would...that is, if I was the criminal type." He stopped rambling when he realized that his two friends eyed him a bit differently. "I'm not, obviously," He added for good measure.

"We put away 'undreds of them though. Too many to count. Too many suspects over a long course of time," Porthos explained. "Everyone we put away 'olds a grudge. It would be impossible to find the one responsible. They would all be guilty. "

"How about the ones recently freed, or granted clemency?" d'Artagnan inputted.

"Or maybe someone that has never been imprisoned for their misdealings yet," Aramis almost bit his tongue before saying it, but continued on knowing that the question of 'her' involvement would come up eventually. "Someone that supposedly fled Paris?" He hinted.

Their eyes all focused on one another as the same memory seemed to pass between them. The memory of a dark alleyway left with a revengeful woman and an haunted friend seeking peace from the hold she had on his heart. Athos' demons were kept at bay as he let the woman he loved go free, while he himself would bear the burden of her remaining existence, still haunted, but free from guilt.

The recollection of her walking footsteps to freedom was all that played over and over again in the minds of the three comrades. Milady was a free woman with still yet a revengeful heart. Her appearance back in Paris wouldn't be an unlikely assumption. She could quite possibly return with a vengeance more fierce than the last time, which called for bad news for the burdened husband. The room became deathly quiet as the three men all had the same name make residence at the tip of their tongues.

"Milad-" d'Artagnan began, but wasn't able to finish the last syllable when the footsteps of someone approached from behind.

"No," Athos' voice, without sounding rude or upset at the reminder of the grief that the situation held for him, cut in from behind them, before the name was fully spoken.

"She wouldn't," he continued sounding a touch stronger than he ever had when discussing his past grievances with his wife, for releasing her locket from off his neck in that alleyway, pulled some portion of the weight off his heart, "She knows the price she would pay."

"He's right," Aramis patted the shoulder of Athos as he approached, while smiling a smile of encouragement to him. "Best not think of the worst."

"It already looks worse," Porthos reminded his optimistic friend.

Athos tilted his head to look at his bigger friend with eyes that distinctly told him to close his mouth. And Porthos reluctantly obeyed.

Captain Treville entered the room a step behind, looking more discouraged by the second. Approaching his seat without saying a word, he sat down for the first time that morning while his fingers rubbed at his already tired eyes.

"The king already called for an audience with me," He said regretfully. "I am to leave immediately, but I am sure that a quick discussion with you is more profitable than muttering information I don't have to the king."

He stopped to look up at his inseparable soldiers with relying eyes then pointed out the window as he began his statement.

"I am counting on you to find who did this. That is, before it becomes more than just a pile of blood to wipe up if they strike again. To have the corpse of the one responsible beheaded in the public square, rather than another of our comrades publicly humiliated and our regiment slandered, is what I'm sure we all desire."

d'Artagnan placed a foot forward. "We were somewhat discussing the possible suspects already," He spoke encouragingly. "Possible criminals who seek revenge for their time served?"

"Good. What else?"

"The Cardinal-" Porthos quickly inputted again.

"The best bet is to find out where both our victims were located before they died. What they were doing and who they were with," Aramis suggested while ignoring his friend and cutting him off. "Checking the nearby taverns, or maybe...brothels." He said the last word with a certain admiration.

"We won't be going to the brothels if absolutely necessary, Aramis," Athos interrupted, giving him another of his stares, while Aramis seemed to show a little disappointment. "Gifford was known to have quite a few drinks at local taverns, the same being for Elloy. We should start with their own rooms and seek out any evidence, then proceed to the public places."

Treville slowly stood up from his seat with his hands extended out on his desk, hunched over.

"Then start there. The sooner we find out where they were, and what they were doing, the sooner we'll find the culprit," Treville commanded then nodded to Athos. "Anything more that needs to be discussed?"

"We need the details of their campaigns worked in the past," Athos spoke with his causally leading tone. "If they were working on any former mission associating with our killers, the attack could be focused on that particular group of musketeers."

"Maybe even all of us," Porthos added.

"I didn't become a musketeer to die quietly in the night without a fight," d'Artagnan spoke with reason.

"We all didn't," Aramis' voice seemed to quiet the noise of the whole room.

"And that's why I'm not taking any chances," Treville stood up to his full height. "I'm restricting the entire regiment to stay put in the garrison. If any one leaves, it'll be on their own heads."

The four men all looked at one another in question.

"All except you four, of course," He sounded a bit apologetic realizing that his men would be in more severe danger then he probably anticipated. "I'll make sure that the red guards have control over all of the king's affairs today."

"Great," Athos rolled his eyes causally.

"I apologize for putting you in the most vulnerable position, but-"

"We'll find 'im," Porthos cut him off without hesitation. "Or them. No matter the cost."

Treville heavily breathed out while hoping the cost wouldn't result with another man tied to the roof, or another laid at the gate.

"Then this conversation is done. Find what you can, but be careful. I don't want your bodies giftwrapped lying at my doorstep. That I can make due without."

He approached d'Artagnan and rapped on his leather shoulder pad stamped with the fleur de lis that he had just recently received when the king granted his commission in the musketeer regiment. The hard-earned leather on his shoulder still stood out to be the shiniest leather out of the lot of them. Still too new compared to his three friends whose leather had seen the worst of days.

"Be discreet as well. Leave those here. If these killers are tracking down musketeers for fun, I would rather not make yourselves a painted target."

The four of them systematically unbuckled the symbol of honor from off their shoulders to place on the desk of their captain. It felt like an awful blow to their morale as they all lost the one thing that somewhat made them feel more paramount to the rest of Paris.

"Then I thank you gentlemen for what you are about to do. More than that, Paris itself thanks you for what you are about to do," Then excusing them with a wave of his hand, Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan turned away from their captain and stepped out the door one at a time with Athos at the rear.

"Athos."

Athos stopped and turned around at the summons. The Captain quickly searched for a small key below his desk then unlocked a cabinet a few feet away from his cluttered desk. After a short moment of time, he approached his most trusted soldier and handed him a few official papers. The documentation of past campaigns that his deceased friends were recently engaged in.

Treville knew Athos' shoulders were already burdened, from the past's demons or the recent disturbances, probably both. But the fact remained that he knew there was no other man quite like the one that stood in front of him at that very moment. One so faithful to his duty and more so to his friends. He had watched time and time again where this man held nothing more important than the safety of his comrades, not even his own life. Captain Treville already had hope in the matter being closed with this man on his side. He always had.

It was then, when Athos took of the information -regarding the deceased comrades- from the hand of the Captain, that he turned around and stepped out the door to join his friends.

"Watch yourselves," Treville called after him, adding a bit more weight to bear down on his lieutenant. "I cannot lose my best."

Athos without looking back, nodded.

And as he closed the door behind him, Athos realized just how light his right shoulder felt; wishing to have back the extra piece of weight that his leather coat of arms proudly provided. The one that already started to collect dust on Treville's desk.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The four men dressed in civilian garb went unnoticed as they walked into the third tavern that very same day. Looking like a simple group of friends seeking peace from the bottle, the musketeers arrived causally without arousing suspicion from the locals. As they were meant to.

Kept from prying eyes, their cloaks provided the means to hide the weapons at their sides now strictly condensed from the normal amount that they would carry. Porthos had complained earlier about not having enough protection if the killers were to pounce, but the men all knew that with his expertise art in hand to hand combat he had no reason to complain. The man could fight off an army with the strength of his bare hands.

The gossip in this tavern revolved around the very same talk from the others. The same discussions that included: _"If the king's bodyguards cannot protect themselves, how can they be trusted to protect the king,"_ or even the personal favorite, _"They got what they deserved, for drinking more than carrying out their duties,"_ which was highly untrue.

There was no one who better understood that the power of the drink would never supersede the musketeer's loyalty to the king, then Athos himself. A man sometimes needed to numb his sorrows, making the pain vanish even for a little while. It seemed to be the only escape for a man with many a burden. As the four men sat down, they let the swarm of the gossip fill their ears, listening for some sort of a clue on where their friends last were.

The other two taverns they had stepped in earlier had claimed to have never served the two men a bottle of drink. Whether they were lying in order to stay away from wrongful rumors, or it was the honest truth, the musketeers with no avail, walked out of both establishments a few coins shorter, and with no more information then they had that very same morning.

Even the deceased men's rooms gave no evidence of their whereabouts, or any hints that lead up to their murder. Based on personal experience, Athos had already known that both his deceased comrades never stepped in the same establishment as he, so certain taverns needed not to be questioned for the time being. The killer, or killers at the moment were ten steps in front of the musketeers who possessed no knowledge of the incident; except the outcome.

The bar tender at a tavern -only a few blocks north of the garrison- noticed the four men enter his establishment and approached their table after dismissing himself from a overly-chatty local. He smiled to them being thankful for their patience and welcoming then with his small gesture.

"And what can I get for you gentlemen?" He asked while throwing a cloth over his shoulder then wiping his hands on his grimy shirt.

Athos pulled out a bag of money from behind his back, and then tossing a couple coins in the hands of the scruffy tavern owner he replied, "Information."

The man rubbing his thumb over the coins in his hand, quietly decided whether or not to trust the group of men in front of him. The coins jumped in his hand as if he was judging the weight of it, then sticking it into a pouch around his waist, he looked up at the four cloaked figures sitting down in front of him.

"What sort of information would you like?" His voice became quieter than his normal outlandish tone.

"The musketeer called Elloy, was he a former patron of yours?" Athos placed the bag of coins behind his back, shortly revealing the rapier at his side to the owner.

The man swallowed hard noticing that these men were on serious business and took his time before answering. Observing the bar around him then realizing it was clear, he then took a seat next to the men.

"He came in here often. Yes," He started nervously. "A few days back at the last, the same night the stink about his dead friend was rumored around. Oh what was his name? Goread, no Giff-Gifford. I'm sure of it. He hasn't been in here since."

"Did 'e talk to anyone while 'ere on that last visit?" Porthos asked.

"No, neither did he come to drink, which was far from normal. He only sat down in the corner booth behind us, pulled out a note from under the table, and then walked out the door."

Athos stared at his comrades then back at the man. "How did you know he pulled a note from under that table?" He questioned him suspiciously. "I would like to think he would of been discreet about a matter like that."

The man instantly became mentally shaken up and reached for Athos' cloak pleading for his life. "I beg of you. I had nothing to do with the matter. Don't kill me."

The foursome almost wanted to laugh at the crazed man.

"Why would we want kill you?" d'Artagnan asked slowly, amazed at how quick the guilt spread across the man's face.

"I only did what I was asked to do. Nothing more. I placed that note under the table, but I didn't know that it would lead to his death. I swear it."

"Do you know what the letter spoke of?" Aramis added.

"Not a word. I promise."

"And the one that asked you to deliver it?" Porthos chimed in.

"A cloaked man in a dark alleyway. I couldn't point him out if I tried."

"This Gifford you mentioned...you've mentioned he was a friend of this Elloy. Were they together often?" Athos spoke while finally releasing himself from the man gripping his cloak.

"Constantly, but Gifford had not been in here recently for the past week before his death. He's been going to that inn near the Whitman's estate. Drinking his bottle there instead I assume. I believed their friendship came to an end recently due to their separate ways."

"Was there a fight between the two on that last day?" D'Artagnan inserted himself in the conversation.

"Ohhhhh," The man let out a long breath, "You know how it goes when a man's lips touches the bottle."

"That doesn't answer our question," Athos said slowly while blinking his eyes and looking rather annoyed at the man.

The tavern owner started to stand up from his seat. "I answered enough of your questions. Drinks are on the house for you all, if you leave me be. Please, I have a business to run."

When owner stood up fully from his seat, the musketeers of four stood up as one along with him.

"Thank you for your time Monsieur, but we politely decline your offer," Athos spoke on account for his friends who looked as if they were willing to accept the sir's kind gesture.

Their faces told him that they quietly wished that their designated leader would say yes after the long morning they endured already, but Athos' face didn't change as the decision he made still took preeminence. Without a word, his eyes told them to step outside. And they obeyed without question. He waited for his men to excuse themselves fully from the table and exit the tavern's walls, before reaching again behind his back for more of his coins in the small purse he carried. Athos then placed another portion in the hands of the tavern keeper.

"Keep silent," He spoke quietly, but forcefully hoping that the man knew just how serious he really was. "I trust that you completely understand not to speak of this affair to anyone else, or I WILL take the opportunity to kill you for your participation."

The man took of the coins and nodded quickly saying nothing. Athos distinctly knew that the man would keep his word for the time being. The man's frightened expressions gave him a certain confirmation.

Athos slightly bowed his head concluding the matter between them and stepped outside into the afternoon sunlight.

"What did you do?" d'Artagnan asked as his returned mentor untied his steed from the wooden rail and climbed up on its back.

"Couldn't be trusted," Athos said wryly, causing the youngest to lower his eyebrows and stare hard at his face, looking for confirmation of some sort of joke. After a second of silence Athos slightly smiled as the young musketeer seemed to have believed the sarcasm that he loved to produce once in a while to be true.

"Filled his pockets with coin," Athos finished answering after enjoying the moment.

d'Artagnan sighed, being relieved to some extent that Athos was bluffing.

Porthos laughed and sent a hard smack to the back of d'Artagnan. "You should 'ave seen your face. 'ilarious."

D'Artagnan cringed as the received wave of pain spread across his back. "Hilarious," he muttered between clenched teeth. Porthos' hand would clearly leave a mark for a day or two.

"So you think, per say, that this letter Elloy received was a threatening one?" Aramis asked openly; trying to ease back into the mission at hand.

"Possibly," Athos answered looking deep in thought.

"Then why did Elloy receive that note on the night Gifford was murdered? Why not the other way around?"

"Maybe the killer is communicating early on with his targets, before 'e kills 'em," Porthos added. "Gifford might 'ave received one earlier on then."

Aramis' face lit up. "What if the murderer chooses his next target before killing the previous one? Hmmm. So yesterday night being the day of his most recent murder, means that the next victim..."

"Already received a note," d'Artagnan cut him off sounding a bit darkened by the idea.

"If there is a next victim," Athos reminded them. "Although we should perceive that there might be one, we cannot be sure that there is, let alone, if that note was threatening in any manner. But..." He took a breath that could clearly be seen in the winter air. "We need to follow up on it nevertheless."

Aramis pulled up on his horse and turned around to fully face his comrades. "What about the inn near Whitman's estate? That's quite a journey for practically the same bottle that you would get here, don't you think? Who was Gifford hiding from?"

"If the two men fought about somethin', that would be a reason to create their space," Porthos hinted.

Leaning downward on his horse, Athos didn't answer for a number of seconds while he seemed to ponder an idea.

"That's why d'Artagnan and I will head out there tonight," He finally spoke, "And see what clues we can pick up from Gifford's last known location. You two are returning to the garrison."

"Were spilttin' up?" Porthos forehead creased.

"If there is a threat out for our next victim by a letter, Treville needs to know. So yes we are."

D'Artagnan moved his horse closer to Athos', already ready to follow his friend. "Let's say that the note had already been received by a musketeer in the regiment. Wouldn't he have said something about it this morning?" He paused as more questions troubled him. "Even Gifford and Elloy. Why didn't they mention that they were being targeted?"

"If it's a threatenin' note, there must 'ave been a good reason to keep their traps shut about it," Porthos imputed.

"Well make sure the next one talks, before they no longer can," Athos ordered causally.

"We'll make 'im cooperate."

"Then, dear Porthos," Aramis turned his horse around facing the opposite direction of the estate that lay miles down the same street, "We need to go back home and find a note with a black spot on it."

Athos grabbed Aramis' shoulder before he got out of reach. "And Aramis...no brothels."

Aramis patted the gloved hand on his shoulder and gave him reassurance through his brooding smile. Athos didn't return the smile.

Porthos also reassured his worried friend. "We'll 'andle it. Now you take care of yourselves." With a bow of his head he turned his horse around, sided it next to his friend's, then kicked the animal under him sending him down the Paris street at a frightful speed. Aramis followed suit and with a small tip of his hat, he sent his goodbye. They both vanished out of sight as they took the bend to the left.

When they were out of view, Athos tapped on his leather saddle bag near his side while looking at their youngest recruit, "I have papers that logged all Gifford and Elloy's activities since last spring. Looking at those might hint us toward finding a grudge holder, as you theorized. But first..." He pulled his cloak over his head as the sun reflected brightly in front of them, "We have a long ride."

With a kick, both horses were off in the opposite direction of their friends, picking up the settled dirt on the stone floors and leaving the street corner filled with only the normal hum of a busy shopping day and the loud chatter of the tavern patrons echoing down the alleyways of Paris.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

By the time Athos and d'Artagnan had reached their destination, the snow clouds that mysteriously appeared overhead during their ride, had released it's frozen particles and dusted the Paris rooftops and streets with a thorough cleansing. It was a perfect distraction from the horror of the mornings activities and a needed disguise for the blood on the garrison walls, but for the two men dismounting from off their horses after a miserable frigid ride, it was an unnecessary added hardship to the list of woes that this day carried out.

Shaking the snow from off their cloaks as they entered the smaller inn, added to the number of eyes that carefully observed the unknown men. There was no point in keeping a low profile with the discomfort of snow bleeding through their cloaks and freezing them to the bones. Without hesitation, both approached the roaring fire in the middle of the establishment and removed their gloves in order to feel its warmth.

While standing still in front of the hearth, a figure came up behind the new strangers and laid a hand on Athos' back. He felt the warmth of the small hand even through his soaked jacket and turned around to acknowledge the owner of the delicate hand. A woman of her middle years stood behind him. Her figure was delicate like her hand, but her face held an authoritative aspect that told him she was the proprietor of the building they were standing in.

"Would you care for a hot drink, sirs," She looked into Athos' deep set blue eyes and smiled gently. "Or can I perhaps draw you a hot bath?"

Athos stared back unmoved and taken back for a matter of seconds. The woman, by far, was not unpleasing to the eye. But his loyalty to his duty told him to rebel against his heart's wishes. And he did.

"Actually," He said looking around at the environment around him and then back at the woman, trying to focus himself. "We are looking for a gentleman..."

"It'll cost you," The woman cut him off and proceeded to continue her flirtation with the man. Her hand that still rested on his back now traced the top of his cloaked shoulders.

Athos smirked. "I believe a payment in coinage should be satisfactory."

He watched as her smile faded and her hand retracted from off his body the instant the words left his mouth. He somehow longed back for the warmth it had provided in the meantime.

"What's the name of this gentlemen then?" Her voice changed its tone to one of annoyance and on the brink of being hot-tempered.

"His name is Gifford. A king's musketeer," d'Artagnan answered before his friend did, trying to sound oblivious regarding Gifford's sad outcome. "Some say that he was here a couple days back. Did we miss him?"

The inn keeper studied their faces before answering, trying to determine if the men were only trying to pump information out of her already knowing that the man they spoke of was dead, or if they honestly haven't heard about the musketeer's demise.

"You friends of his?" She asked believing them to be completely honest of their lack of knowledge.

"Brothers," Athos lied partly. The musketeers were known as a brotherhood of soldiers and Athos considered his friends to be more brotherly than his own flesh and blood was to him. In that case, the lie was not entirely untrue.

She studied his face once again and then turned to look at the younger of the two. "You two are brothers? You couldn't pass for cousins." She laughed at the strangers pompous claim. "Neither of you look like him anyway."

Her accidental slip of her tongue regarding having met the man, prodded Athos in taking control of the conversation. "Claiming you have met our 'brother'," He said the word slowly and sharply as if they weren't bluffing in the first place. "Will you inquire to us where he may be?"

She bit her lip and spoke bluntly without pity, "Six feet under by now. He's dead."

"Dead?" d'Artagnan did his best to sound surprised, but a quick look at Athos' eyes told him to stop, before he jeopardized their plan.

"Yes, dead. A few days ago when he showed up to buy a drink, it was the last time I had seen his face," She continued. "I found out later that he died that very same night."

"Did he come with any companions?" Athos asked.

"No. Always alone that man. Hiding from something, if you ask me."

"And did he ever receive a letter of some sort while in your company?"

Her eyes narrowed, suspiciously. "How would I know? And why do you ask?"

d'Artagnan intervened again hoping to save their plan. "We had written to our brother of late, hoping he had received word that we were arriving." His bluff sounded convincing and Athos sideways glanced, looking impressed at his pupil. He continued on, knowing now that Athos wasn't going to shut him up. "I only hope that he had received our letter before his passing, knowing that we cared very deeply for him . That is all."

Athos gave him the stare. It again was too dramatic.

"I'm sorry to say that I have not seen him take of any letters," The woman started, sounding apologetic. "He came in with only a bag of coins in hand to pay for his drinks and his musket at his side. That was it."

"Was he reckless in any way towards you or others?" Athos wondered about the man's known lively behavior in close taverns nearer to their regiment.

"Reckless? No," The lady said while smiling at a new customer that walked through the inn's door and then turned back to the two gentlemen. "When I said drinks, I meant that he only purchased one drink a night. Sitting wordless without causing a stir, he did. I found it really strange, until I realized that he was a musketeer and I figured that it was some peculiar part the musketeer's code of honor. Not to get drunk."

d'Artagnan inwardly laughed at the woman's absurd idea of a musketeer code. Knowing Athos' love of the drink as well, he gave him a stare, but found that the man didn't share the same laugh. Athos instead stood silently contemplating the bit of information that she had given them. Gifford was known for drinking his fill. He was also known for not being able to handle his drinks. He was assumed to have died from his drinks. If she spoke of the same man, the musketeer must of been clearly out of character. Athos wondered if the man was keeping track of someone and got killed for it.

"He must of been the only musketeer that you have served here?" He asked, aware that the woman had a minimal knowledge of the musketeer regiment.

"Since you ask, no. Just the two. But the other one didn't drink at all, that's why I thought that..."

"What other one?" Athos stopped her mid-sentence knowing that she had just given them crucial information.

"The other musketeer who comes in here quite regularly. But I don't think he knows that I'm aware of his position with him all being secretive and stuff," She bit her lip. "I hope I didn't blow his cover."

"How did you come across knowing this?" Athos questioned his idea on thinking she knew very little of the king's soldiers.

She turned around and studied the room thoroughly before proceeding with her answer. "He and his friends spoke in Spanish together. And I understood them partly as I would pass by. He talked about the garrison in detail, and bits and pieces of military information. Stuff only a musketeer would know. That was all I heard."

"Friends?"

"Yes, his friends. Three or four of them."

"All Spanish?" d'Artagnan inputted.

"Was Gifford associated with these men," Athos eyes became darker.

The inn keeper became annoyed. "I told you that he came in with no other musketeer and I meant it. They never came in together, except that last night when Gifford came. They didn't talk to each other, so I knew them not to be acquaintances. They were not friends."

"Do you know the name of this other musketeer? And can you describe him?"

"No and no," She waved her hand pointing to all the people around them. "I see so many faces every day, I couldn't tell you. Besides, you seem more interested in this other musketeer than your own dead 'brother'."

"We needed truthful information," Athos apologized in his own undramatic way of handling things.

"He was more of our brother in arms," d'Artagnan added. "So in part, we did not lie to you madam."

"You're musketeers aren't you?" Her eyes widened and a smile crept back on her face gazing back at Athos.

Athos didn't return the smile. He rather silently with only a small stare at d'Artagnan, told him that he might have blew their entire cover. Looking back at the woman who suddenly had become very fascinated with him, he tried his best to properly explain themselves. "It is our duty to find out what happened to our friend that night, before it occurs to another. Any information you have on the matter will in fact save lives."

She sighed and let a couple quiet seconds hang in the air before deciding to proceed. "His Spanish friends that he came in here with, called him Andres. And I can't describe much of him except that he had a beard, quite unlike yourself." She pulled at d'Artagnan's cold chin when answering.

Athos pulled out his money pouch and placed a suitable number of coins in her smaller hand. "Where might we find these friends?"

She closed her hand over the funds he provided and smiled her earlier flirty smile. "Right here. At the end of the day they come in. Every day," She tapped Athos' side where his blade was sheathed under his cloak. "But please, no trouble."

Athos smirked. "You'll forget that we were here and what we have spoken of, and we'll kindly do what you ask."

She raised up her free hand and ran it across Athos' forehead, brushing a wet strand of his hair to one side. "It'll be hard to forget someone so handsome." Her hand ran down his cheek as a small goodbye, then turning around and attending to her guests, she left them alone near the fire, as if, they were never there.

"One condition," It took awhile after when only the momentary sounds of the crackling of wood logs and idle gossip floating around in their ears until Athos finally spoke again. "There's not one man in the entire regiment that goes by that name."

* * *

When the snow had just begun to fall, Aramis and Porthos had already stepped inside the closed gates of the musketeer's garrison. The annoyed faces of the soldiers surrounding them, hinted their dislike of being restricted inside the compound and held a certain jealousy for the four favorite musketeers that were free to roam about dangerously.

Not one was posted anywhere outside the gates, and not one seemed to be keen on the idea that the red guards were receiving more positions at the moment. Not even the king, of whom, Treville had just finished conversing with. The Captain approached the railing outside of his office door and upon seeing the two men entering the gates, he waved them up immediately.

"The others?" He asked as soon as the men came in hearing range over the whistling wind and snowfall.

"On the way to the inn near Whitman's estate, seeking information on Gifford's last known location," Aramis assured the captain that his friends were in still good condition. "We came back to impart on the garrison the news of our findings."

"Go on."

Aramis nodded and continued, "It may just be a precaution, but we believe that the killer has been thwarting his targets with threatening notes before their death. And that our next target may have already acquired a letter of the same sentence."

"Another of my men is already targeted?"

"In theory yes."

The captain looked away from the men disgusted, but still in control. "How did you come by this information?"

"Tavern owner on the north side," Porthos answered. "'e was presumed to be used by our killer to deliver a letter to Elloy on the night of Gifford's death."

"From there we took the assumption that our murderer chooses his next victim on the day he kills his previous target. If you follow," Aramis tried to explain.

"I follow. But I wholeheartedly wish for the theory to remain untrue," The captain spoke while turning into his office out of the cold. Aramis and Porthos quickly followed behind.

"Will you talk to 'em?" Porthos asked.

Treville still had his back facing his men, but you could see his breath as he spoke.

"The note could be threatening their family or another musketeer in the regiment, so trying to talk to them might not grant us the answers we seek," He stopped and turned around so that he could look them in the eyes. "But that isn't going to stop us from trying."

"What do you want us to do?" Aramis asked.

"Call every soldier individually into my office," Treville continued speaking while lowering his voice to make sure no one except the men in front of him heard what he was about to say. "The king cannot permit me to keep this place on lockdown any longer. He ordered me to dismiss everyone back to their rightful posts hours ago. I do agree that hiding like cowards does nothing but further disgrace our honor, but I wanted word from you first to give me clarity on the matter."

He refused to sit down in his chair and stayed standing behind his desk while he still spoke, "Let's assume that our murderer is only on the hunt for a singular person with this supposed letter. Dismissing everyone else will not tend to be a problem, just as long as we keep the targeted musketeer under protection here."

Porthos raised his eyebrows, "That is 'IF' 'e'll talk."

Treville nodded and sadly agreed, "I hope for his sake that he will."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Perhaps she was mistaken that he was a musketeer," d'Artagnan suggested as he sat down at the table Athos had decided upon and flexed his fingers trying to get back their touch from the numbness the cold had gifted him with.

Athos stayed silent, like always, when deep in his thoughts. The man could be so far away mentally, while being only a few feet away physically. The look in his eyes always told the whole story. This time they were focused. Not on a specific person or thing in general, but only on a blank wall at the far corner of the inn. Nothing of course was there, but the way the man had looked at it, suggested otherwise.

It was awhile before he spoke, but when he did, it was a relief to the younger musketeer who thought the man had left him mentally.

"Possibly," He started, sounding still lost in thought as he spoke. "But if Gifford was watching this Andres and his operation, and was killed for it, we can only assume that Elloy was disposed of for the same reasons."

"Then who's Andres?" d'Artagnan questioned. "We apparently have never met him. nor heard of him."

"Or have we?" Athos finally looked straight at his friend, while his eyebrows almost hidden under his hat went up. "Just by another name."

"A spy in our regiment?"

Athos nodded. "If someone seeks to obliterate Paris itself, planting a spy in our force will tear it apart."

d'Artagnan rose up from the table eagerly. "Then we should head to the garrison, warn the others. This much more than just threatening letters and grudge holders. This could be a planned invasion."

Athos didn't stir. "In due time. Sit down and think logically. We leave now and we miss our chance at meeting this man's friends and instead expose to France that our regiment is corrupted. The garrison is on lockdown and our traitor is secured there. Once we deal with the Spanish traitors and then confirm his identity, we go back."

"Does anyone else know about this operation at the garrison? Wouldn't they be in trouble with him wandering freely?" d'Artagnan asked while sitting back down. "I mean, we haven't, so apparently we aren't on his death list."

"Unfortunately, we will be once he knows we are prying in his business," Athos' blue eyes peered around the room suspiciously, still hiding under his cloak waiting for any newcomers. "It would be suicidal for a singular man to attack a garrison singlehandedly and blow his cover. The safety of the men in the garrison is guaranteed for now."

At that moment Athos pulled out of the pouch, he carried at his side, a number of documents. While he laid them on the table in front of them, d'Artagnan noticed that they were the documents he spoken earlier of containing the records of Elloy and Gifford's former campaigns.

"Our deceased musketeer friends, in order to become suspicious of the man, could have very well been in close contact with our said killer."

d'Artagnan became instantly conscious of where his friend was heading. "That means, that there would of been some sort of recent experience that persuaded our friends to keep an eye on this man. A recent campaign perhaps?" He pulled at the document and started to scan the paper. Athos seemed slightly pleased that d'Artagnan caught on so quickly.

He flipped over, yet another document, this one containing the records of Elloy and compared them to Gifford's. A majority of them contained the same information, as not one mission stood out above the rest. Quite like the inseparable musketeers consisting of Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, Gifford and Elloy consistently were put together. They worked like symmetry. Yet, there was always a third or fourth name written next to theirs. All different, never the same person twice.

"All these men could be guilty. Joquz, Renauld. Look, even Porthos' name is on here for carrying out a prisoner transport," d'Artagnan spoke while still reading over the paper diligently then giving up almost a second later. "This is pointless."

"Unhelpful, but not pointless," Athos looked disappointed himself, but still not overtaken. He still looked at the documents determined to find an answer. His eyes narrowed when he reached the bottom of the page. d'Artagnan noticed the look in his eyes and pulled the document closer to see what his friend was seeing.

"The date on the last mission," Athos pointed out. "Is from two weeks ago."

"Yes."

Athos' head tilted, waiting for d'Artagnan to realize what he was saying. In an instant his eyes narrowed as well and looked up from the papers to stare at Athos.

"This paper says that they have done nothing in the past two weeks. No mission, no duties, no nothing."

"Exactly. And here..." Athos dragged his finger on the jagged edge of the page at the bottom. "Looks like it's been cut off deliberately." He pulled the documents of Gifford's mission logs and pointed out the very same occurrence. "Someone didn't want us knowing who was stationed with these men on their last duties."

"Our killer."

"Presumably," Athos rolled away the useless documents that gave no identity of the man they sought out, but confirmation of his existence in the regiments. "It only confirms for us that someone indeed has tampered with these documents to hide one's name. And that only a musketeer could know where to find these."

"But still no name," d'Artagnan sighed while running his hand through his hair that had been thoroughly dried from the nearby fire.

Athos didn't answer back, due to his sight being focused on a group of men that walked through the front door. Three of them to be exact. All hidden underneath their heavy cloaks covered with the weather's cold fury, quite like themselves earlier. The men were unsuspicious to the patrons of the inn's tavern, like all guests who walked through the doors, but to a soldier of France, the suspicion reeked off of them like a dead fish in the market.

With a tap on d'Artagnan's shoulder, Athos directed his vision to the men walking through the door without turning his gaze off of them. He watched as the men in unison sat down at a vacant table and nodded to the inn keeper who had approached their table slowly. She caught the eyes of Athos and slowly nodded, confirming the men she had spoken of earlier, if he had not already caught on. He nodded back with a small thanks.

The men's Spanish accents added to the flow of voices in the large room as they began to flirt with the tavern owner, while their loud obnoxious laughs made the musketeers cringe. Here were the men connected to the murder of their friends sitting only a number of feet away from them, enjoying their un-shattered world.

Athos stood up from his table with his eyes never wandering from the newcomers that had entered the room. His eyes, like daggers told the story of how he was going to shatter their world. And he approached their table, as if, he feared nothing.

* * *

The garrison was emptied of the majority of musketeers off duty, who were so eagerly dismissed from their hostage experience. Instead of being fearful of the situation surrounding them, no one even considered being the next target. Or rather, no one wanted to think of being the next target.

There was no letter, and their would never be one. Whatever threat hung in the morning time, was diminished and forgotten. The men desired to be free from the burden of waiting. And the precaution was long overdue. The king needed his musketeers and they were of no use sitting around. Life had to continue, regardless of the dark circumstances at hand.

The process was long and tedious. Each soldier of the regiment was to search their own belongings and be inquired upon if they have received any threats at present in note format. Not one replied with a definite yes. Even the rooms of the murdered musketeers were searched to confirm the usage of a threatening note, with no avail.

Whether the note was on their person at the time of the recent musketeer's deaths, they were also unsure. Their uniforms were missing. Stripped from the soldiers as they were slowly beaten to a cruel death. Whatever note was handed off in the tavern to the musketeer Elloy, whether threatening or informative, it was no where to be found.

Porthos and Aramis sat down to a leftover meal inside the mess hall far away from where the pools of blood from the body of the dead musketeer was covered with dirt and where the air was slightly warmer than outside. The snow had rapidly fallen and left all the surrounding buildings under its white blanket, for no one in their right mind would wander the streets of Paris in the middle of the small storm.

Inside the mess hall was a welcome warmth to the two soldiers who patiently waited for the return of their friends, but considering the weather they knew that the wait would be longer than expected.

"Now what? We wait until another of our comrades drops dead tonight?" Porthos tried his fork in his meal debating if he was still hungry. Somehow his appetite was satisfied just the way it was after trying a portion of the cooked meal. Ever since their new cook had received his position in the garrison, the food at the local taverns became a gourmet treat to the musketeers.

"Patience Porthos," Aramis grabbed an apple from the table and chomped a bite out of it, rather than partaking in his plate of food. "In this weather, I would assume for a man to consecrate on keeping himself alive rather than taking away the life of someone else."

"I would 'ope so."

"Only our two deceased friends could of been caught up in this nasty affair and that was that. No more killings. Everyone is safe."

Porthos didn't seem pleased at that optimistic conclusion. "Then why deliver 'em back on our doorstep? Why go through the 'astle of tying 'em up for all Paris to see?"

Aramis stopped biting into his apple as his face grew darker in the candle light. A couple seconds passed with only the howling storm outside, then with a slap of his hand on the table and a jolt from Porthos he exclaimed, "THAT'S IT!"

"What's it?"

Aramis got up from the table in a hurried action and stared out the window that looked over the garrison. He placed a hand on his chin, as if, he was deep in thought. "How did they get in the garrison in the first place? Hmmmm?"

He stepped away from the window and started to pace the room. "Gifford being dropped off at the front gate was not a hassle to perform. A cart drives by and then 'plop' they drop the body off without being seen. BUT, to enter the garrison unseen and tie a body on one of our rooftops, that's impossible," He stopped for a spell longer grabbing all he could from the idea's his head produced. "Impossible unless..."

Porthos stood up from the table as well. "Unless our killer is from the inside."

"A musketeer," Aramis only but shook his head to confirm what he was thinking. "And we just let him walk out the door."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The inn's barn door stood stuck open against the howling wind outside near the outskirts of Paris. One could see the estate in the distance along with Paris looming farther across the acres of empty property on a clear day. But this was no clear day. The bright sunshine filled morning gave no warning to the frightful winter storm that it would soon produce once the sun fell down from the sky. It had only but added yet another misery on the two musketeers, who diligently sought to seek justice and honor their code by doing so.

The snow keeping the door stayed in place, piled up a number of inches and left the cold wind blowing in on the two musketeers and the three Spanish gentlemen all huddled inside along with the two black steeds Athos and d'Artagnan had traveled on.

Holding to his word, Athos did not cause a disruption in the tavern atmosphere. His pistol hidden under his cloak trained on the back of one of the three outsiders, served to be an excellent push towards getting the men out of the inn and into the cold inn's barn. The men without a word, removed themselves from the bench they had just sat down on and led the way back outside into the cold.

"I am Athos of the king's musketeers," His hand held steady while holding his pistol at the men, despite the cold. "You are under arrest for plotting against the Paris government and the murder of two royal musketeers. I advise you to follow us to Paris for questioning."

d'Artagnan joined his friend by also aiming his gun at the three men in front of them. "Your cooperation is preferred," He added.

The men, whether they were guilty or not, stayed unmoved by the news and acted rather in a calm manner. The musketeers noted that the three of them were in fact brothers, by the look of resemblance that stood out between them, not just because of the nationality, but by the look that floated in all their eyes. The eldest brother of the group, defined by the gray hairs in his beard spoke first.

"And what proof have you gathered on the said claim." He spoke in his thick Spanish accent, hard to understand if one was not listening closely.

Athos' breath was clearly visible as he spoke under the barn torch light. "Proof of your involvement with a renegade musketeer, who is selling you government secrets is a start."

A laugh from the three men floated in the air.

"Where have you heard this? Idle gossip?" Another of the men spoke. A laugh again escaping him after his last question was brought forward. "That's no proof."

"Andre's' full confession spelled out 'proof' quite nicely," Athos bluffed. Trying to lead the men into believing that their supposed spy was already in their custody. d'Artagnan eyed his friend, unaware of where the man was heading.

The three brothers looked at one another and speaking in their native tongue, they agreed upon something between them.

"If you would please show us this confession, we will follow you willingly," The gray-bearded one spoke.

"We do not have what you ask for in our possession at present." Athos admitted with embarrassment.

"Then I bid you good evening," The eldest once again spoke, with almost a smile on his face as he bowed himself and started to exit the barn along with his friends.

d'Artagnan clicked back the clip on his gun and stopped the men from moving any further out the door without saying a word. His hand shaking from the anger building up inside of him kept his gun trained on their backs, while Athos lowered his.

Athos placed a hand on d'Artagnan's gun to lower it down. "We can't hold them."

The gun still stayed in place as if the weather itself had frozen the scene and it refused to be moved.

"D'ARTAGNAN!" Athos said harshly while noticing the boy's over-eagerness.

A moment of hesitation, and then the gun was slowly lowered.

"We are not who you seek for," The eldest man spoke for his last time as they left the two musketeers alone in the barn.

Athos without another word turned to his horse and placed the certain documents back in his saddle bag, as if, nothing had happened and the men were never there in the first place. He tensed up slightly when the younger man grabbed at him, but it didn't come on as a surprise.

From the day they had first met, young d'Artagnan had been labeled to be full of fire, but heart as well. Acting before thinking things through, or jumping to conclusions was an common character trait of his. Athos understood him. He didn't push the boy off, or scold him, he merely let d'Artagnan's grip on his cloak hold him fast.

"We..." He paused biting his lip to control himself. "...could've taken them."

Athos waited to hear the inn's door open and the roar of laughter and gossip echo out into the field and then the silence that followed after the door had been shut. He remained calm, as he always did when he felt in control of the situation.

"I need a drink first," Athos said bluntly.

The sentence made d'Artagnan furious and in result grabbed his cloak tighter and pulled him in closer. "Those men killed our friends and you're having them walk on free just because we can't prove it. That's not justice."

Athos didn't have to answer his friend's false claim. He simply gave him one of his notable stares that wordlessly told the young man to understand him and let him go. The cloak was released at his command and d'Artagnan looked away ashamed.

"We're gonna prove them guilty, aren't we?" He said with a sigh of relief.

"When we follow them home tonight. Yes," Athos smirked at his friend who now seemed relieved that a plan was in action. "If they think that we have their spy in custody, their next action will be to pack their bags and flee the country, leaving all matter of suspicion dissolved."

"And you assume that the proof that we need will be at their hidden location somewhere in the city."

Athos nodded again. "I rely on it being so. And the identity of our unknown musketeer," He moved past d'Artagnan and pulled over his hood to brace himself from the harsh winds, while stepping outside of the barn. "Now, we just wait."

d'Artagnan followed his lead and pulled over his hood muttering beneath his breath, "Waiting, yet again."

Athos turned around hearing his friend's almost silent comment. "That's why one drink won't impair us tonight." But he didn't smile as he said it.

As he predicted, the sight of the three Spanish brothers leaving the tavern as discreetly as possible, came as no surprise to the Musketeer Athos and it but only proved to young d'Artagnan that they were now a move ahead of the opposing team.

When suspecting that the two musketeers had drunk their fill, the foreigners stepped out once more into the night and saddled their horses quickly. If not for the harsh winds outdoors, one would of heard the hoofs of the three horses making their way quickly back to Paris.

d'Artagnan again was the first to arise from the table. Always seeming to carry a torch of fire in his soul, he was ready. His cloak was already over his head. Leather gloves already fit on his hands.

Athos reached up and pressed on the young man's shoulder wordlessly telling him to wait while he took another sip from his glass, before rising from the bench that they had given claim to for the hours of waiting. There was the small appearance of being stiff and exhausted by the way that he had stood up from his seat, assuming to be from the events the day had already brought them, yet d'Artagnan knew that the one drink that the man partook of did take his toll on him.

He didn't have the appearance of being wasted and reckless, for the man was always more than one hundred percent capable of performing his duty, but the one drink that he had tended to carry on drinking during the course of the night certainly helped gift him with his non-dry eyes. The recollection of past things always did haunt the man when turning to his drink.

"You alright?" D'Artagnan's supposedly polite question made the troubled man give him the expression of being annoyed.

Athos looked at the young man and stiffly nodded trying to hide away any emotions that came to the surface. In a second, his demeanor changed its course and his seriousness once again plagued his face. He was ready. How the man, in reality, coped with his demons, d'Artagnan would never know, but admiration he had for the man would always remain to be unsevered

The bitter chill that ran through both the musketeers bones as they begin to ride out and follow the three sets of tracks imprinted in the snow, made them long back for the warmth of the giant hearth in the inn's tavern. Even more so, long for the rooms of their residence wherein that they could sleep. But the wish was quickly dispersed from the mind's eye as the chase created a sort of adrenaline that would even awake a dead man from his sleep.

The three men ahead of them like spots in the distance, partially hidden by the rapid fall of snow, had no reason to believe that the musketeers, in their drunken state in the tavern, pursued them. A theatrical performance of the musketeers acting sluggish and out of sorts drove the three men off to their place of stay without assuming that the men could be somber enough to follow them. They tended to be completely in the wrong, for if they turned around to see the two cloaked riders behind them in the storm, would they of been able to avoid the surprisal visit that would soon befall them.

The ride carried on for only two quarters of an hour, but it felt like an eternity before they came closer to the gates into Paris itself. But the riders did not enter into its gates like the musketeers predicted. A sharp turn to the left before entering the city, and down an unseen path through vacant farmland now thoroughly covered with snow, gave the view of a quiet outskirt village, known to produce a large portion of the fruits and vegetables the city had to offer.

Now in the winter, it was a simple homestead of the farmers, who already enjoyed their profits for the short summer season, living quietly under the shadows of Paris, waiting for the sun to return with its warmth.

Athos and d'Artagnan stopped a distance away watching as the men entered into a lightless barn and then remerge horseless. They then stepped closer to a house that was lightless and without stirring on the inside. Whether it was because the people that lived inside were fast asleep, or that no one lived there at all, they didn't know. They only watched as the three men heaved up on a snow covered underground cellar and then lowered themselves down into it, before approaching closer to where the horses were tied up in the drafty barn.

Athos was off his horse with his pistol drawn, stepping silently near the closed cellar a short moment after the men had disappeared underneath. d'Artagnan followed his lead, coming up on the other side of the underground door with pistol raised up in the air, ready to fire if necessary. Both stood silent and listened intently to the men scurrying below.

The noise was frantic and unplanned, hurried to the extent where if any man would disrupt their actions, they would risk being run over by their precarious exploit. Guilty was written on their movements, without seeing it on their foreheads. The noise of muffled speech and laughter perked up the ears of the musketeers inattentively listening for some sort of proof.

Why the men had traveled miles out to the inn's tavern to meet in public with their musketeer friend, remained unclear to the two men who followed the Spanish to the nearby hiding spot just a walk away from Paris itself. A meeting down in the cellar that was below their feet could of been more secretive and less conspicuous. Why risk walking into the public's eye and fall into the idle gossip of the inn keeper, who so readily gave up the information of their military misdealings?

All these questions ran through Athos and d'Artagnan's head while approaching closer and closer to opening the wooden door. A possible trap could await them below. Maybe all of it was just a lure to bring them to this particular spot to be slaughtered like their deceased friends. Even at this certain spot, the smell of death drifted into their noses while waiting outside. It was possible that their two friend's last known location was at this very spot. Down a cellar on the outskirts of Paris. Next on the rooftop in Paris, or at the gates of the garrison.

Silently counting the countdown, Athos reached down at the count of one and opened the door in such a hurry that all noise below stopped dead, as if, everything frozen over. The shuffling and quick movements of the men that had disappeared below, had frozen like statues, for now only the howling wind was all the noise that remained.

Both musketeers made their way blindly down the steps with guns out in front of them, ready to shoot the first thing that they questioned. The small trickle of light that gave a view of the room that they had entered took but only a matter of seconds to adjust to the men who had traveled so long in the dark.

A smaller room may have been imagined for the two musketeers that entered down into the hiding spot. They may have even imagined the worst possible scenario of a torture chamber in where their friends were cruelly beaten. But the sight was neither of the two, for when their eyes had focused on what lied in front of them, both of the musketeers pistols were lowered and placed respectively behind their backs, forgotten for the moment.

The faces of the three familiar Spanish gentlemen that they have met earlier, were lost in the dozens of new faces that surrounded them and gawked at them suspiciously. The far stretch of space in the underground cellar, packed men, women, and children who either laid on beds made of cheap cloth or straw and huddled up together creating a man-made type of warmth, due to the smallish candles that lacked in number and in its giving of heat.

Similar almost to the renowned court of miracles that held its reputation for housing the outcasts of Paris, this sheltered adobe housed the forgotten of Paris without sticking out like a sore thumb in the geographical location of the city. A secret no one could prove, so it was left unproven.

Only rumors had been spread of a shelter for the rejects below the dirt. Rejects, the ones with a mark at the base of their neck indicating their past offenses, were banished from entering the beloved city. Treated like a diseased pack of rats and a plague, these people were the rejects of Paris forbidden to enter Paris on the penalty of death. And here below the dirt, they created a home for themselves right under the shadows of the city, without ever gracing themselves in Paris nearby.

Athos refused to remain in the awkward state their arrival had festered. He continued searching the sea of people, while questioning the room, with his deep voice bouncing off the enclosed space.

"We're looking for certain gentlemen of three who had just entered through here," He spoke calmly and collectively, always speaking with an elegance that was impossible to duplicate. "Three blood-brothers, to be more precise." He added.

The room still remained without stirring, as if, no one could understand his brooding accent, or either refused to cooperate with the strange gentlemen not dressed in musketeer garb. His voice demanded attention and was impolitely ignored.

"We are all of the same blood here." An elderly woman had spoken. She looked too frail to even touch. Her Spanish accent at the verge of incomprehensible.

"We will not leave until we have spoken with our friends." d'Artagnan stated while crossing his arms under his cloak trying to keep himself warm. His soaked cloak, did nothing but prolong the coldness that swept throughout his body. He knew that Athos beside him tried so very hard to remain intact, but the slight shaking of his hands told him otherwise. There was no possible way of hiding the fact that they were freezing to death.

At the mention of the word 'friends', all the residents of the underground cellar, turned around to look at the three brothers clearly distinguishing them from the group asking in Spanish if they were in fact their friends. The word 'amigo' in constant usage floating around the room. The three men sitting together, noted for hiding behind the multitude of bodies, now stood up already fit with rage from the disturbance.

"You call us 'friends' and I believe that you are mistaken," One of the brothers called out from the back of the room and now walked up to meet them. "You must understand that we would never associate ourselves with the likes of you. Let alone call you 'friends'."

"Why do you bother us?" The youngest of the three brothers spoke in his thick Spanish dialect that spat fire at the moment. "Have you come here to kill us?"

"Maybe," Athos said dryly.

"Just because we are branded men..." He pulled down the side of his collar revealing the permanent mark of a banished criminal. "...doesn't give you the reason to so easily blame us for the murder of your friends."

The other two familiar men now stood right behind him. One of which, now carrying a younger child in his arms.

"Leave us and we'll forgot you trespassed on our property," He continued, feeling a bit more confident in himself.

If Athos' ever did laugh, at that moment he could of, if it was in his character. But the small smile that came on his face, in his own way, showed a certain kind of amusement that he had received from the scenario. D'Artagnan smiled along with him.

"I don't believe the cellar of an abandoned farm house is your property to begin with," Athos started, while looking around figuring everything out. "Which is considered trespassing and an act of treason. Arresting you for that guilty charge is in my jurisdiction." He stepped closer to the three brothers, without breaking a stride. No smile was on his face now. "Will you answer our questions now?"

"If the question involves asking if we are responsible for the murder of two musketeers? Our answer is no," The brother with the scruffiest looking beard spoke this time. The young child he held in his arms, by her looks clearly a kin of his, escaped out of his arms to find her mother a short distance away.

"Then why haven't you said so at our last meeting?" d'Artagnan grew suspicious.

The three brothers once again eyed each other and spoke nonverbally through their eye contact. The eldest of the three of men pulled down at his collar to reveal a mark one of his other brothers had shown them already.

"Because we received this mark for the murder of a musketeer, a decade ago." He said looking ashamed, but still not cowardly. "And our hatred of your regiment, government, even Paris itself, is proof enough to blame us for our involvement of killing the recent two. The bodies of these musketeers, so we heard, were humiliated and tortured, hung up on the rooftops of Paris for all to see, just like the musketeer we had taken life from. How are we to prove that we did not commit the same act of treason once again, when it so closely resembles our heinous act from long ago."

Athos looked impressed, then stared at d'Artagnan for support. "Either that was a decent lie, or they're telling the truth."

d'Artagnan raised his eyebrows in agreement and looked back at the gentlemen, awaiting an explanation.

"It is the truth. That's why you're here, because you suspect us. Isn't it?" One of them blurted out hurriedly.

Athos crossed his arms. "I never heard that story in all my years in the regiment. And believe me, I hear stories."

"Tavern rumors spoke of your involvement with a renegade musketeer, who is assumed to have been working under a false name and in shady business that was being investigated," d'Artagnan began.

Athos interrupted, "We assumed you were involved with the killings of the musketeers who have been covertly watching your actions at the inn near Whitman's estate. We followed you here to find 'proof' of your interference."

The brothers laughed out of mockery, or nervousness, the musketeers couldn't tell. But their laugh bounced of the walls of their stolen homestead.

"And have you found this proof?"

"That remains to be seen."

The sentence Athos gave, paused everyone in the room, making the conversation between them feel even more tense than what it was before.

"Since the day we were granted clemency from the dungeons of your city, we have never met with a musketeer until this very day as you stand before us," One of the brothers spoke, "And why should we? Our reputation suggests otherwise."

"You will not find the blood of your recently deceased here," The eldest brother cut in, trying to clear the matter.

"What is for us to stop assuming that your hatred drove you to kill off these musketeers?" d'Artagnan added.

"In league with a musketeer, to kill off musketeers?" The eldest brother laughed again. "And this is why Paris will fall, because the immature king sits on the throne and his immature soldiers enforce the law."

d'Artagnan quickly took a step towards the older man, holding back his desire to punch the man square in the face. A look of disapproval from Athos and his hand gripped hard on his shoulder, suggested otherwise. d'Artagnan quickly contained himself and pulled back.

"If home lies in Spain, why not go back," Athos tried to dismiss d'Artagnan's actions without bringing any more attention to him.

"What transport ship will allow us passage home?" Spoke the eldest brother with a bitter hatred. "And what family do we have back home that will accept us with this cursed mark? There is no going home. This is family we've created here. All we have is here."

The middle aged brother spoke bitterly. "What we have here, is all that your country will ever provide us with."

"I'm going to forget that your silly hatred of Paris for correcting an act of treason on your part, is real. What you have here, is what you deserve." Athos stated honestly.

The same brother stepped forward with all his strength, before Athos could realize what the man was about to do, dragged the musketeer back against the stone wall and smashed his head against the frozen element.

The quick action caused d'Artagnan to draw quickly of his musket and aim it directly at the man's back, but the two brothers nearby had disarmed him and restrained the young musketeer before a shot was fired at their brother.

They screamed for the unnecessary attack to end, while d'Artagnan yelled for his friend who stayed motionlessly pressed against the wall. The hatred that built up inside the marked man over the countless years, was now unleashed and focused directly at the restrained musketeer. The fire d'Artagnan saw in his eyes, spoke death. The man was going to kill Athos. And d'Artagnan could only stand restrained and watch it take place.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Aramis had a decent head start running toward the captain's quarters, since Porthos took his strides carefully climbing the steps, his boots tried so hard to connect with. Their conclusion, that a supposed musketeer was either behind the killings or assisted the one responsible, was a delicate matter to bring towards the captain. It was a crude guess, but a possible one.

The access of the garrison to outsiders in the night time, was rare and unheard of, for the gates were closed and not accessible unless a musketeer himself had opened them. If someone was let in the garrison during the night, there was no way of getting through without going unnoticed. An imposter within the regiment was a more likely story and a convincing one.

The entrance Aramis made into Captain Treville's office was impulsive and unrestrained, causing Treville to jump from his seat and leave his quill falling down on the papers he had signed. He breathed out a long sigh and removed himself from his desk upon noticing Aramis.

"What news?" He said while greeting Porthos who came in his office a step behind. "Athos and d'Artagnan return yet?"

"No. I think the storm has caused their time spent away to be a longer one, unless they had found something," Aramis treaded the ground he was about to step on carefully when answering the captain. "Porthos and I were just discussing the fact that the assassin was able to step inside the garrison at the darkened hours this morning." He stopped to look back at Porthos, then turned around again staring hard at the captain. "Is that at all possible?"

"We saw that it was surely possible this morning," Treville didn't sound pleased. "Where are you going with this?"

Porthos pressed together his lips. "Who was on duty last night?"

Treville softly laughed out of relief of their question. "Gentlemen, I had already spoken with them this morning. They saw nothing, they heard nothing..."

"That's not where we were leading," Aramis stopped him.

"Then where might you be leading this conversation?" Treville crossed his arms.

Aramis continued, "Toward believing that a musketeer let the setup take place."

Treville stayed absolutely still. His face not holding shock or appraisement at the musketeers claim, but rather disappointment and rage. He stepped closer to his two soldiers in front of him.

"First you're tell me that threatening notes are plaguing the nation, now..." He stood on the verge of yelling at them, "...now you claim that one of the musketeers are involved? Where is your evidence? The evidence of poppycock rumors and ideas do not bring justice to Gifford and Elloy who were brutally murdered by a killer who is either slaying his next target, or probably on a boat to England by now."

Treville's voice stopped echoing before Aramis defended their work. "We're doing all we can do with what we have in order to stop that from happening," His anger steeped into some of his words.

"And I'm starting to doubt my faith in you doing so," Treville bit back.

"That's not fair."

"Fair? Not being fair is tearing apart this barracks to find proof of a letter with no avail and a flawed theory. Now you want to interview every musketeer in this barracks in order to find an imposter? I say no. That's even more absurd than that of the letters."

"Only the two musketeers who were on duty last night, sir," Porthos added respectively. Adding the sir at the end of his statement to gain favor and cause the captain to come back to reason, was in his belief system.

Treville swept his hand through his hair while taking a deep breath and determining whether to listen to his men or not. The room stood in silence as his temper started to cool.

"I apologize," He began, "This whole matter has done nothing but cause me discomfort and impatience. And I know not just for me, but everyone in this bloody garrison. I only wish for us to sleep soundly tonight," He stepped behind his desk once again and sat down in his seat, clearly exhausted. "If what you said is to be true, a traitor in the musketeer regiment confirms for me that sleep is no longer an option until this is fully settled."

"The two men's names?" Aramis asked, feeling relieved that the quick scolding was over.

"Marvian and Gaius."

"Marvian and Gaius?" Porthos repeated. "Them?"

"The only two who were present at the time, yes."

Porthos expected names that left a bitter taste on the tongue. The name of an enemy that left your heart sinking into the ground, the way the name 'Milady' had left Athos frozen in dismal state. He didn't expect the names of his friends. The names of people he seen on a day to day basis walking the same dirt that he stepped on. The names of the ones he called brothers. He had forgotten just how hard the path they were about to tread, was going to be.

Aramis placed a hand on the shoulder of his strong friend reading the expression that aligned his dark skinned face. "They are our friends, all of the musketeers, no matter who it may be, it's not gonna be easy."

Porthos nodded, but continued wearing his face of worry and confusion.

Treville shook his head. "None of this will be easy, once you walk down this path. And that's why I fear that you are right."

The room became deathly quiet for a moment of time as they all silently agreed to carry on.

Treville continued. "Gaius is at the tavern across the street, if you would like to speak with him first. I only pray that he spoke the truth of last night, and that your assumption is invalid. But then..."

"You wish it to be true, so that this business will be far behind us," Aramis finished the thought, before Treville could speak his mind.

Treville sadly nodded in agreement. He reached across his desk to where the leather arm bands of his four inseparables were laid the same morning and then pushed them within reach of the two out of the four of his most faithful soldiers.

"I imagine that you would desire to have these back, before carrying on with your duty. I hope there is no longer a need to hide."

Aramis and Porthos kindly accepted their prided arm bands and attached them back on to their shoulders, while leaving the other two still sitting on the desk, longing to be back on the uniform of its distanced owners.

* * *

The blunt force Athos received to the back of the head could of knocked out any other man stone cold and had almost succeeded in doing so as every light around him faded away for a brief moment of time. But his strong resistance to the blow and quick recalibration of the violent incident, caused the assailant to become more furious once he noticed that the musketeer was regaining his awareness.

The noises in the room swam around Athos like cluttered noise as he recomposed himself. The first thing he had noticed was the warm trickle of blood that ran down his skull and down the back of his neck. The pain spread like a fire throughout his skull, giving him cause to feel sluggish and almost sort of drunk when he tried to command his body to do exactly what he wanted it to do; to defend himself. But he could not.

The shout of his own name by d'Artagnan, out of his eye's vision, helped him keep focus. There was a reason to be awake. And his tired mind searched for the answer as best it could without seriously straining itself. He pinched his eyes shut for a moment of adjustment, before opening them again to look at the human body that roughly held him against the wall, that now was stained red from the blood that slowly oozed from his skull.

The angered brother that was regrettably the first person his eyes made contact with, was now known as Costas from the yells of his brothers and family in the room clearly opposed to his rough action. What Athos seen in his eyes, at that moment, was the urge to kill. He had seen it a many of times before, when a criminal would start to make his move. When the said man would strike, the look in his eyes would always tell the same story. Athos only waited for this man's next move.

Wincing in a short-lived pain, he asked his attacker. "And is this...how you murdered...the others?"

This clearly upset the man more so, to the point where he tightened the grip on Athos' cloak with one hand and sent the other fisted one at the musketeer's face. The fist would of crashed into Athos' jaw and would of sent him barreling into the stone wall a few inches behind him, but with every ounce of strength Athos moved his head slightly and instead let the man send his fist into the wall behind.

Athos heard the crack of the bones as clearly as he heard the man's screams hereafter. The focus Costas had on his shattered hand gave Athos the chance to grab ahold of the man by his coat and send him up against the wall in mockery of his earlier action. Pressing him up against the wall, Athos had his fill of the matter.

"ENOUGH!" He yelled. The fire in eyes now morphed close enough into what Costas held in his own. "If you want to live, then prove your innocence."

Costas stopped all movement and instantly felt weak against Athos' restraint power. The lieutenant musketeer choose to remove his arms off of the man that looked as frail as a child now that he was injured physically and somewhat mentally with the memories of the past.

"You musketeers consider yourselves above the law, even so to the point where you can beat a working girl and escape the consequences," Costas spoke in the silence, still angry and trying to hold back his gasps of pain. "What kind of a brother would I be if I let it continue to my sister?" He looked back at his two brothers behind him, ashamed to look in their eyes. "Our sister."

He stopped in order to receive an answer from Athos who looked on trying to concentrate on the man's story and fit it together. But he didn't answer. Athos patiently waited for more, realizing that the man was explaining his past offense, rather than the recent murders that had taken place. His heavy breaths, was all that was heard in the silence. d'Artagnan still restrained by the younger and older brother, stayed silent as well, not able to interfere in the situation.

Costas continued, "I'm not giving justification to murder, because believe me I have seen and experienced what happens when it is carried out, but in our eyes, what we did to that musketeer, we did with the knowledge of doing what was right on our side of the law, because people like you wouldn't take care of it." He walked closer to Athos pointing a finger without touching him again. "We already paid our dues."

The eldest brother spoke from across the room, while letting go of d'Artagnan's cloak. "We were meant to be executed, by order of the king, but the ten years plus this cursed mark was all that we had received. But since our release, we have been treated like scum. Abused by your country. Left for dead by your government, living with our families in a hole not fit for a rat," He stopped to catch his breath and avoid losing control like his younger sibling, "Now we are being framed for murders we have not committed. Why will our past never die?"

Athos' eyes now held a sort of compassion, in where, he completely understood their scenario. The past was a hard thing to kill and no one better knew that it was the case, than Athos himself. He would never have peace from his past, until he lied in his grave.

"Your release years back...did it warrant any dislikes?" He asked out of curiosity.

"I can almost remember the brother of the man we killed staring at us, as if, he was looking at the devil himself," Costas said quietly. "I assume that is why he had joined the musketeers in the first place, to make sure that our lives remained in a miserable state once we were released."

Athos caught the eyes of d'Artagnan and quickly turned toward Costas.

"This musketeer's name?"

"Andres. Of course. You've mentioned his name to us in the barn earlier. You said that you have him in custody and that he gave his confession of our supposed involvement with this heinous acts."

"A bluff. And there is no such musketeer in our regiment. We only just heard the name as a passing suspicion," d'Artagnan added.

The three brothers looked at one another in confusion.

The youngest spoke instead, "He goes by his first name of Marvian. Andres is his family name. Surely he is in your regiment still."

At the mention of his name, the two musketeers' eyes widened. d'Artagnan didn't know how to react to the news upon hearing the musketeer's recognizable name. He recognized the name of a friend, not an enemy.

He turned to find support through Athos, but he noticed that the man was already turned away from Costas and nearer to the hatch that they came through, already bringing his hood over his head ready to venture out back into the cold. It was hard not to notice the blood caked on the back of his head before he covered it up, even in the dim light of the room.

d'Artagnan left the side of the two quieted brothers and approached where Athos was, not at all understanding what the man had planned.

"We're leaving?" He whispered his question avoiding the man's brooding eyes lost in thought.

"Yeah," Was all that Athos answered his friend, climbing the steps up.

"We can't just-"

"They were framed," He answered again quickly and irritated, but not at the questions, more so at the trap that they had fallen into.,"We were led into believing a lie to come here. Made to look in the wrong place."

At the statement, the three brothers eyed them differently, as if, they never expected to be treated fairly in all their days. A look of relief filled all the faces in the room. d'Artagnan was the only one in the entirety of the room that still looked on his friend with a mere misunderstanding.

"Then where is the right place to look? The garrison? So that we can question Marvian?" d'Artagnan continued with the questions.

"No, back to the inn for our witness," Athos blankly said.

"What witness?"

"The one who accused these men for associating themselves with a musketeer."

d'Artagnan was beginning to catch on. "The inn keeper? You believe she lead us here on purpose, for a distraction?"

"Exactly."

"Then why did she accuse the musketeer Andres when she would seek to protect him?"

Athos pushed up on the hatch enclosing them in the crowded space and shuttered at the cold that entangled once again. The stink from the room now was drowned out by the smell of winter. He deeply breathed it in.

"She stayed close to the truth to make it believable and lead us here," Athos hoped.

"Makes sense."

Athos glanced back at d'Artagnan from the corner of his cloak and then focused his eyes on the clan of branded people behind him. With a nod of his head he excused himself without words and sent his boots crunching back into the snow. D'Artagnan followed suit and closed the cellar doors behind him, leaving the Spanish family praying that no one would come through their doors ever again.

Their awareness of two shadows lurking in the woods behind them watching their every move, did not exist.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Every bit of it is true," The musketeer called Gaius spoke, while sitting next to a roaring fire at the tavern the musketeers had just recently visited that morning.

He seemed to have drunk a bit more than what he was normally accustomed to holding in and the result had given the two musketeers the blurted out answer they were searching for. But the answer wasn't received with a gladdened heart, as they were expecting.

Their assumptions of the musketeer's involvement with the murders were as they had predicted. Gaius claimed to have been on watch with the musketeer Marvian, who had bribed him into going home for the night. Gaius accepted and had lied about being present during the course of the night when the accident had taken place. Marvian was alone the entirety of the night. And his suspicious action of sending Gaius home only lead them into believing that he had something to do with the accident and whomever he gave entrance to the garrison.

"He'll kill me for telling you. He'll kill me," Gaius spoke in a non-sober manner, clearly distraught about the whole ordeal indicated by waving his drink in his hand.

Porthos placed a hand on the man's shoulder to settle him down before his drink had splashed everywhere. "We won't let 'im," He said calmly but saddened from the news; hating for it to be true.

"We need you back at the garrison for safety," added Aramis. "If what you said is true, then Marvian may be behind the killings and he will do the same to you upon hearing that you have given this information. Risky business."

He looked over at a group of musketeers who were enjoying their fill at the far end of the tavern. He waved over to them who obediently halted their time of enjoyment and came over to where the three men were.

"Escort him home, then inform the Captain that he is to be under security guard until we return," Aramis ordered them.

"Is he under suspicion?" One of them asked.

"No he is under protection. Tell Treville that we have a lead."

"A name?"

"Our friend Marvian. Do any of you know where he had been since he left the garrison?"

A musketeer with a deeper voice spoke. "Marvian? He visits his mistress a couple miles out of Paris."

Porthos nudged Aramis' shoulder and he returned an understanding look.

"She wouldn't be at the inn near Whitman's farm would she?" Porthos asked already knowing the answer.

"Actually yes," The deep toned musketeer answered.

"The name of his mistress?"

"He didn't say. But I think she owns the place," He finally said after a second of thought.

"You mean the innkeeper?"

"I believe so."

Aramis' instantly became solely focused on a core aspect and stared at Porthos next to him. The worry spread across his face like a shadow. He didn't even have to speak his mind, for Porthos already knew what his friend was thinking. But the words came out anyway, as a sort of reflex.

"Athos and d'Artagnan," Aramis said guiltily, "Could be in trouble."

Porthos grabbed at his winter cloak and pulled it over his head ready for a long ride.

"What we waiting for then?"

Aramis tipped his hat to the gentlemen standing around the table without a word and quickly left the establishment with Porthos at his side, as if, the lives of their two friends depended on it.

* * *

Although the snow had settled and its blizzard-like performance had met its end, the ride back to the inn, for Athos and d'Artagnan, was worse than the trip they made to the hideout near Paris in the midst of the snowstorm, due to the drastic change of temperance from before.

The wind that had blown the frozen particles in every direction during the storm had yet increased in its power and caused the musketeers a lengthier trip into getting to the inn. The frozen air cut right through their cloaks and bit their skin.

d'Artagnan was the one to constantly let out a gripe or a small indication that he was freezing to death, but Athos himself didn't complain. It would of seemed logical and appropriate for him to do so, for the situation that they were experiencing at the moment was miserable enough to warrant some sort of complaint from even the toughest of men, but d'Artagnan knew it was out of his friend's character.

The man could of been bleeding out on a snow bank in the middle of no where, and would still not act in a manner that would scar his gentleman-like tendencies. He only listened to the howling wind and the crush of snow under their horse's hooves for the duration of the ride, while he stared ahead at Athos' dark shadow a few feet ahead. The snow on the ground had helped keep the men not totally sightless under the midnight sky.

To mimic every action of the man that rode in front of him, was all d'Artagnan ever desired. Sure his flaws of his drinking habits he could do without, but the man's loyalty to the musketeer's regiment and Paris itself, was a rare gift the man possessed. As troubled and scared as the man was, d'Artagnan could never truly understand how Athos conducted himself and how he still went on.

He only wondered if his duty and friends, was what really kept him going and what he would be without them. He never wanted to know how the man would cope without either of those things.

The young musketeer mostly wondered how Athos at the moment was still mounted on his steed, after the blow he received at the hideout. The man who had rammed Athos against the wall, may have not looked strong enough to push a man as hard as he did, but the fury that had rolled off of him, made him look inhuman at the moment of the strike he took at Athos. Athos, taken by surprise, looked in a deathly state as he seemed to be unconscious after the attack, and d'Artagnan had almost considered him to be dead from a blow to a head like that. He had seen people die from much less.

He vaguely had looked at the wound just when they were leaving the hidden compound, but he slightly received the indication that it clearly bothered his friend, and he didn't want to address the matter at the moment. Again, the man's faithfulness to his duty ranked higher than his own personal needs and d'Artagnan could only but hope to learn from that.

He wanted to apologize for doubting him earlier, but the silence between them as they rode on was a difficult thing to break without being too awkward. But before he could really consider doing it, strangely enough Athos broke the silence after stopping in front and turning to face d'Artagnan. His face hidden beneath the shadows of his cloak.

"Stay still," Was all he said while trying to keep his horse steady and noiseless.

d'Artagnan obeyed, but also voiced his question, "What.."

But Athos quieted him before he could continue. His hand barely visible put up in a gesture that noiselessly said to shut up. His ear was clearly tuned on something that d'Artagnan couldn't hear. With his thoughts loudly playing in his head, it was for certain that the young musketeer couldn't directly focus on anything else at the moment, nor be in tune with what Athos was listening in on.

Though the wind had pierced the musketeer's eardrums and had left the entirety of the forest creaking in the wind, one could not ignore the sound of galloping horses heading their way. Two of them by the sound of it. And with every seen breath the two musketeers took, the unexpected visitors came closer and the sound became more noticeable.

The case being that the sound came from behind them from the city itself, stood out to be very clear that it was unwarranted guests. They were being followed. By whom, they didn't know. But with quick thinking and no way to outride their guests with their weary horses, Athos and d'Artagnan wordlessly agreed to go unnoticed and hide amongst the deep cover the forest provided. The tracks left by their leather boots and their horses hooves, became unseen as the branches of a leafless tree disturbed the snows imprints.

It was dark enough to hide the two musketeers and their horses in the cover of the night, but the riders approaching weren't of a dull mind. They stopped and dismounted their horses quickly. Their boots crunching the snow that had been trotted on not too long ago. The scrape of a rapier unsheathed, gave indication for Athos and d'Artagnan to grab hold of their weapons at their side. The unknown men breathed deeply and rough, as if, they were in a hurry and this unwanted stop had caused them trouble.

The crunching of the boots in the snow continued and drew closer to the men undercover. Athos remained completely still, but d'Artagnan fought the urge to spring his attack on the visitors. He felt Athos' eyes watch him and without even looking young d'Artagnan knew not to take matters in his own hands. Moving was not an option. He obeyed Athos without even acknowledging the man's orders.

It was in that moment when everything became abnormally silent. Even the wind seemed to quiet itself. It was then when Athos knew that the intruders wouldn't leave until the unseen issue was resolved. All that remained was who would strike first and He certainly choose not to go last.

The next action left the head musketeer charging at the nearest shadow of a man who quickly blocked the expected blow to his sword, already ready for the fight. It left d'Artagnan a step behind, who quickly sprang to action following his mentor. He jumped at the other man, who almost started to assist his friend against Athos' masterful blade that dominated the duel, but found himself now occupied with the swordsmanship of the young man from Gastony.

Their duelists were familiar. As if they had fought that specific gentlemen in a duel once. Athos' duelist was elegant and quick in his actions with the blade, no match for the expert swordsman, Athos, but he was most skilled in using his weapon gracefully even so. The one who crossed swords with d'Artagnan was considered very strong with the blade. Although he was much slower in his movements compared to the young musketeer, his strength gave a healthy competition to d'Artagnan as the pressing on his blade was hard to overthrow. He had almost lost his sword twice to the man's overbearing strength on his blade.

The concealing that the cloaks provided the men, could only hide their true identities for so long. As they danced under the lower limbs the forest provided and fought with their shaded duelists in the snow, Athos had tried to identify the identity of his assailant multiple times with no avail. Something burned at the back of his head, besides his wound, in that he knew this man.

Athos movements were a bit sluggish from the beating he had taken earlier and a bit reckless as he swung his rapier blindly around in the dark. Using only the light from the snow itself, was not much light to begin with, but the satisfying clang of metal against metal gave him confirmation that he was still in the fight. His numb hands did its best to grip tightly on the sword.

D'Artagnan had succeeded in sending his assailant to the ground on one occasion, but the impact had only upset the man even more. The man's roar of anger sounded more so of a beast than a man. D'Artagnan silently prayed that he was in fact fighting a man. He continued to block the man's blows one by one, but the heavier they did become.

It wasn't until a moment later, in where, Athos' opponent had gained the upperhand and sent his sword sailing under a foot of freshly fallen snow, buried and unreachable for the moment. With his head pounding and new warm trickles of blood escaping his wound, as if he received another blow to the head, Athos fell on his knees and admitted surrender. d'Artagnan amazed at his friend's newfound defeat to a sword fight, dropped his sword as well and let the blade of his opponent's sword touch his neck.

"If you plan to kill us...at least give us the reason why," Athos demanded to his captors out of breath and out of sorts. He rose up a hand to the back of his skull to be sure of his brains staying intact.

The sword pointed directly at Athos' heart, let up and the shadow of the man standing over top of him quickly bent down on one knee to look more closely at this prisoner. Athos didn't care to look up at the man who bestest him. The man pushed off his hood in an instant and smiled his normal brooding smile under the hood of his own. The one he would normally give when being his optimistic self.

"Athos." Aramis said gleefully while turning over to Porthos to see their other prisoner. Porthos followed suit and yanked back the hood of young d'Artagnan who looked as relieved as himself. Athos on the ground below him held a grin that always faded away too quickly, but for that short time it was there.

Aramis crossing himself and looking up at the black sky, thanked God.

"We thought you were Marvian and 'is mistress." Porthos gave another smack to d'Artagnan's back. He seemed to not have felt it as much as the first time earlier. The numbness from the cold that afflicted his body might have had something to do with it.

d'Artagnan returned the smack, "Which one of us did you think fought like a girl then."

Porthos' roar of laughter spread through the trees. "I'm not gonna answer that."

Aramis reached out a hand to his friend still kneeled on the ground and pulled him up to his full height. He watched suspiciously as Athos' face flashed with the indication of pain and tried to steady himself.

Aramis placed another hand behind his friend's back and asked apologetically, "Did I hurt you?"

"Maybe my pride, but no. You did not," Athos remarked while reaching up to the back of his head to pull away a bloodied hand. He ignored it and continued, "You mentioned Marvian, what do you know of him already?"

Aramis tried to take a look at the wound, but was brushed away as Athos cloaked his head.

"He bribed Gaius last night to go home. Only Marvian was on guard duty at the time of the incident," Aramis explained.

"There also was the matter of 'im seein' his mistress at Whitman's farm. The coincidence was obvious. We left as soon as we 'eard," Porthos added.

"Any more knowledge of the notes?" d'Artagnan asked while retrieving his sword and sheathing it.

"None, but I suspect to find them on his person, or already discard away," Aramis concluded, "I still don't understand why he would be responsible for this."

"I do," Athos said while sheathing his own buried sword and walking to where he tied up his horse.

"Apparently Marvian's brother was murdered a number of years back by three Spanish brothers," d'Artagnan explained, "We were led to believe that they were responsible for the recent deaths as well and followed them home to exploit them."

"But you didn't?" Aramis asked.

"They gave the name of Marvian Andres and that he was the brother to the murdered musketeer," Athos informed them while climbing his steed, "This is all nothing but tactful revenge."

They all mounted their horses and pointed themselves towards Whitman's Inn a couple miles further down the unseen road.

"Why was Gifford and Elloy the ones chosen to die then?" Porthos concluded. "It could've been any of us hangin' from the rooftop this morning."

Silence revolved around them as the dark thought seemed to be the truest thing they have heard all day.

"Let's go ask Marvian himself then, shall we?" Aramis smiled exhaustively ready for the day's activities to be over, but still optimistic in every way.

"Marvian is not detained at the garrison?" Athos tried to turn his head as fast as he asked the question, but his body refused to cooperate. He kept his eyes straightforward instead.

"Captain couldn't 'old them," Porthos affirmed, "He tried, but they were let out 'ours ago."

Athos silently cursed under his breath and immediately booted the sides of his horse already creating a large distance between him and his friends. There was no argument between the three of them if they should follow him or not to their destination. They rode on hoping and praying that their theory was correct and that Marvian was not halfway to England already.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 _Three days earlier_

The Musketeer Elloy didn't know why he desired to show up at the tavern while already knowing of the trouble he would soon find himself in. He knew the error of his simple walk from the garrison to the tavern that night would not conclude in being just a minor disturbance.

It was a simple regularity, him showing up at the tavern that night. No one would suspect of him otherwise being anywhere else other than the same bench in the far corner of the tavern that evening. No one gave him a second glance, other than the blond-haired waitress that always gave him a flirty wink.

He only forgot to order a simple drink to soothe his nerves that night. Rather, he decided against it. He aimed to be in full awareness at the moment. A drink always made him a little rough on the edges. Although to be quite honest, his friend Gifford always played the upper hand at being the drunk.

Elloy sat on his bench that wordlessly reserved it for him and reached underneath the table to find the note his friend had explained would be there that evening. He covered the room with a quick pass of his eyes and then used his shaking hands to unfold the paper.

 _Elloy,_

 _Once again I have followed our supposed friend Marvian a number of miles out of the city to Whitman's Inn. I now understand that his being there is not just for the mistress he meets, but to follow up on a group of Spanish gentlemen who drink there every night._

 _Your suspicions of his conduct seem to be correct. What grievances he holds towards these Spanish gentlemen, I am unaware, but I am fully conscious of his plot to rid this country of their filth. His only downfall, I noticed, is that he cannot locate their homestead. He has once tried to follow them home, but I had interfered and he had lost them. I fear what may happen the next time he locates them._

 _This is the only way I can rehearse this information without him knowing that we are aware of his misdealings. I fear that he may already be conscious of our findings already. I will once again return to the Inn tonight in order to keep an eye on our so-called friend. Again, we must keep our separate ways. Marvian mustn't know that we suspect him._

 _I leave you to inform the Captain of his actions. This letter may serve as your proof._

 _Gifford_

Elloy rose up from his wooden bench in such haste that he almost tumbled over the table standing in his way. Fifty or more other men and women also stood in his way as he swam through the sea of people to the exit. Although he hadn't drank a drop inside the tavern that evening, he felt like a drunken man wandering aimlessly through the crowd of people.

Telling the Captain was the only thought on his mind at present. The note was hidden in a compartment of leather at his side, while Elloy began his walk back to the musketeer's garrison to wake Treville. His boots treaded in the dirt and found its way a couple blocks to where the gates of the garrison lay.

He didn't notice the blood on the dirt floor that he was constantly dragging on his leather boots with him, until the gates of the garrison were in his sight. Not until he saw the broken body of his almost unrecognizable friend Gifford placed in front of the gates, did he look down at the dirt below and found the supposed puddles of rain to be crimson red. Gifford's blood.

Elloy didn't have to turn around to know that Marvian already stood behind him caressing the note that was once in his leather pouch. The very same letter that contained all the evidence he had against this musketeer. Marvian glanced over it quickly, smiling after every sentence he read.

"There is blood on your boots Elloy," The musketeer spoke darkly and smiling cruelly. "I didn't want this. After waiting so long, I won't let anyone get in my way."

"I will tell the Captain of your treachery without hesitation," Elloy stated without looking away from his deceased friend.

He only had very little knowledge of Marvian since before last week when he and Gifford was assigned to travel outside of the city gates to transport medical supplies back to their garrison. The dark man's spirit was noticeable and unnerving when he seemed to notice a group of men in a tavern at Whitman's Inn. A group of Spanish men that was somehow familiar to him.

Something about the man was off from that moment on and they choose not to stay out of his business. Now he silently wished to have left the man alone.

"I knew you would say that. So, I'll just repeat myself again. You have blood on your boots Elloy," He waved his hands in a theater-like performance. "People have noticed that you and your friend has no longer have been in eachother's company recently. A quarrel perhaps between the two of you? Over a woman perhaps? Hmmm?"

Elloy understood the man's cruel deception already. Gifford's death could easily be blamed on him. Marvian would make it to be so.

"What do I do?" He hung his head in shame.

"Lie. Make up a story," Marvian prodded. "Your friend was a drunk. That should make it easy."

"He was your friend too," Elloy cried out.

"Friends are disposable when it boils down to a good cause. You will be just as disposable if you spill out the truth to anyone."

"I will."

Elloy felt the blade of Marvian's knife come in contact with his neck. The threat became even more real when his life was on the line.

"And once you do, I will kill you like I have killed your friend. Then I will hang you on the rooftops of the garrison stripped of your uniform for all of Paris to see. The best part will be when I blame it on those Spanish animals that you are trying so hard to protect."

Elloy nodded his head with the blade still on his throat careful of not letting it draw his own blood. He noticed that the blade did contain blood on its edge and he decided to leave his imagination out of it.

"Good man," Marvian pulled the blade away and patted Elloy on the shoulder like how a master would treat his obedient dog. "Good Elloy."

* * *

 _Present Day_

The inn Athos and d'Artagnan had left only a mere hour ago, resembled that of a ghost town. The storm that passed through before the sun had left them that evening, now sent the city of Paris and all that surrounded it, in a frozen state. It gave all a sufficient excuse to stay safe in the confines of their homestead that night. All except four noble musketeers and one not so noble one.

They traveled at a rapid pace back to the inn, only slowing down for a moment or two to freshen up their horses. Dozens of tracks covered the path, one of them hopefully being the man they sought for. They were surprised as they galloped past the occasional traveler during their ride, honestly wondering why they would risk traveling in so frigid weather, if not but for business purposes. The musketeers had to remind themselves why they were out as well after every time their numb fingers gripped tight their reins and the wind bit through their clothes.

Unmounting their steeds and quickly escorting them to the barn nearby, the musketeers of four opened the inn's door and was greeted with the warmth of the giant hearth in the center.

"Evening gentlemen."

They were greeted by a voice coming from the corner of the room wiping down a table splattered with a liquid that didn't resemble anything that looked consumable. Her back still faced them and her face only focused on the job she was performing.

"I trust that you remember us from only a short time ago," d'Artagnan called out ignoring her lack of concern for their behalf.

"I see a lot of people sir and it certainly is not in my pay to remember them," She still didn't turn around.

"I think you will remember us."

She turned around in one quick movement that could of almost blew out the hearth a couple feet away. Athos and d'Artagnan looked her over and were slightly disappointed. Her face didn't hold any resemblance to the woman that was in her position earlier. She was younger and thinner. Her hair was as black as a raven and her skin much darker in contrast to the woman before.

She laughed when she looked over them and walked close to d'Artagnan who had spoken to her.

"I don't think so," The young woman said while touching d'Artagnan's chin with her delicate fingers. "I would of remembered a face like this."

D'Artagnan smiled and caught a glimpse of Athos who breathed out heavily indicating his annoyance.

"I like this one better," d'Artagnan whispered to Athos when she had finally pulled away and returned to her work. Aramis and Porthos felt left out.

"The woman on duty before you. Where is she?" Athos moved past the distractions and continued on to what mattered.

She shrugged her shoulders uncaringly.

"There was no woman before me," She answered, "I was here the whole…"

"How much is she paying you?" Athos continued not falling for her games.

She stopped and considered what she would say next, clearly not liking the attitude of the man that was speaking to her.

"Not enough," The girl finally said annoyed and tired of being used.

Athos tossed his coin purse at her not caring how much of coinage he still had in there. His monthly base pay would reach his pocket by the end of the week anyways. The coins landed with a clang on the wood floor and some even spilled out and rolled around her feet.

The tavern girl looked down at the pieces of coin and back up at the four gentlemen awaiting her response. After a short moment of consideration, she chose not to give them a verbal answer and just pointed up the stairs to the left, hoping to remain out of their business for good.

Scooping up the coins on the floor and placing them in her apron, was the last thing she did before she ran out the back door of the inn and into the cold. It left only the four musketeers and two stoned gentlemen seated at the end of bar in the lobby of the establishment.

Like a rehearsed play Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan removed the guns from their belts and systematically worked their way to the upstairs rooms with their pistols at their front. Most rooms were empty and filthy, but a few tenants watched nervously as the musketeers proceeded down the corridor to the end. The last room at the far right corner had lights illuminating from the bottom crack with a number of shadows dancing on the wall across.

Porthos took the lead and creaked his way to the door bolted shut for unwelcome visitors such as themselves. His foot extended and could of almost smashed down the door, if it wasn't for the splintering of wood and bullets that flew past his head to the door behind him. He dove to the ground while d'Artagnan jumped over him to break through the door.

Although he was much smaller and younger than the rest of them, his determination at the moment gave him all the strength that he needed for the breaking down of the inn room's door.

He expected to see the same woman he met earlier in the tavern and Marvian by her side, but the situation was too good to hope for as only the woman stood alone in the room; her back to a wide open window. A short sword was gripped in her right hand and her empty gun thrown at the musketeers who crowded in her room. The gun technically missing all four of them from a long shot.

Athos in one sly movement -without unsheathing his own rapier- disarmed her sword and sent it flying into his own possession while he pushed past her to look outside of the window that was clearly not open for the purpose of fresh air. Porthos took hold of the defenseless lady and held a hand over her mouth before she could scream.

Marvian was distinguishable from the view in the inn's rooms. He ran like a scared cat pouncing in the snow to another barn -across the way- where possibly his own personal horse took residence. The run that would of taken him a couple of seconds to make in the summertime, took triple the time as his boots could only carry him so fast in the snow. At the moment he was vulnerable.

"Aramis," Athos called over to his friend who was already was preparing his musket for the long range shot. He moved briefly over to the side while Aramis trained his gun on the running musketeer and blew softly on the fuse extending from his treasured musket.

"Wait. You're not going to kill him, are you?" d'Artagnan spoke his mind without thinking, causing the woman by his side to wail underneath the giant hand of Porthos.

The muffled screams of the woman under Porthos' guard wasn't enough to warrant the fugitive's attention, as the bang from the musket sounded, followed by the echoed cries of their fellow musketeer.

d'Artagnan snuck his way between his two friends leaning on the window sill in order to to watch a crippled musketeer grip his grazed leg. The blood that oozed into the white snow below, caused dark spots to visibly show from above.

"No," Aramis said with a hint of pride in his voice as his shot had found his mark. He turned to smile and watch as d'Artagnan's worried expression turn to one relief.

"I wouldn't of cared if you did," Porthos said not even phased by the woman that tried to squirm out of his grip. She wasn't going anywhere for the moment.

Athos turned from his gaze outside the window and wearily walked to the far end of the room where Porthos stood along with the tavern keeper wriggling in his arms.

"Stay with her," He commanded Porthos, who replied with a nod.

Athos then continued out the door expecting the other two to follow him down the stairs to their prisoner left in the snow.

And they did so without hesitation.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

It wasn't too hard to see where Marvian had hobbled off to after Aramis had grazed the man's upper thigh. The trail of blood led straight to the barn where he was destined to go, although now it was at a much slower pace.

By the time Athos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan had stepped out of the inn, Marvian had painfully found his way off the frozen earth. He grunted after every step he took on his way to the barn. The musketeers swiftly followed the bloody trail and stopped on the side of the barn where it lead through the open doors. The darkness prohibited them from seeing the man on the inside, but his hiding spot was obvious.

Marvian had the choice of escaping on horse and being shot down in a matter of seconds, or fighting off the three that cornered him in the barn. His gunshot that splintered the side of the barn, told them that he chose the latter.

"You're outnumbered and outgunned," Athos yelled. His breath visible in the winter air, "Surrendering may help give you a proper trial."

His answer came a couple short seconds later in the form of another musket ball that landed so close to his foot that a slight movement of Athos' foot caused the ball to miss. Athos inched his way out of sight and propped his tired head against the barn door momentarily trying to construct a plan.

'Go around," Athos mouthed almost wordlessly to d'Artagnan with the help of the inn's soft lights from above.

D'Artagnan directly obeyed resulting in the crushing of his boots in the snow; walking in the opposite direction to appear on the other side of the barn. It was only a short moment until he appeared out of the shadows waiting from a signal from his superior on the opposite side of the doors.

'Wait," Athos again mouthed soundlessly. A hand motioned for him to wait, just in case.

Reaching underneath his cloak, Athos unsheathed his rapier that glowed orange from the lamp light and tossed it into the middle of the open doors. It sunk halfway into the snow, but the small glow still served its purpose as another shot sounded out and fell short of the sword. It was enough of a distraction.

The musketeers didn't have to see the man in order to know where in the barn he was hiding. The shot rang out clearly from the left side of the barn and they had only a couple more seconds until the man reloaded his pistol and aimed at one of their heads.

In the short time span they had, Athos nodded to d'Artagnan on the other side who understood perfectly what their next action should be. With Aramis on the left side, Athos in the middle, and d'Artagnan on the right, all three filled up the open space that led into the barn, walking forward toward the shadow of a man that was trying to reload his pistol after his last wasted shot. All three pistols were trained at their old friend's head.

Athos' boot found itself on top of the man's newly inflicted wound, slowly pressing down in order to make Marvian moan in pain and stay him in place. During the short encounter, Aramis had taken the half-reloaded pistol out of the man's possession by kicking it halfway across the barn; probably drowning in the feeding troughs on the other side.

"I think that you'll find that you won't be going anywhere at present," d'Artagnan spoke with greater authority.

Marvian, barely visibly under the darkness of the unlit barn, of all things, started to laugh in mockery, despite being crushed by Athos' boot. It sounded sickly, of course, not only because of his injured leg and out of breath failed escape, but blandy because the man had gone mental. The musketeers could only stare in confusion at the man who was much more than below them.

"You don't seem to understand...do you?" Marvian said in mockery. Blood ran from his leg anew, as Athos pulled his foot away.

"We understand you're a killer," Aramis answered.

"A traitor," d'Artagnan added.

"A liar," Porthos said stepping out from behind them, with an angry woman still in his care.

"So I think we understand very well," Athos concluded in his slower, steady voice.

Marvian continued to laugh as his former comrades spoke against him. The man they once knew as a loyal soldier of their regiment had all but vanished, as he lay there mocking the men he once served with. He pushed himself back, while holding his leg, situating himself before he spoke.

"You have blood on your boots," He said darkly.

Athos gripped the man hard and pulled him closer to his face.

"Yours," He responded frustratedly.

"Much, much more than that," He said in a sinister tone.

Athos threw the man back down on the hay covered floor of the barn and only thought of what he meant.

"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan questioned.

Marvian laughed, "Yours too."

Holding the back of his head to ease the pain, Athos thought only of the worst at the moment.

"What did you do?" He said with a snarl.

Marvian pointed over to his mistress under Porthos' protection.

"Tell them Giselle. Tell them what they did."

The tavern's proprietor looked in dismal state. Her hair was sloppily covering half her face. Her clothes barely giving her the warmth she needed out in the cold. When she spoke, she sounded worn and beaten.

"I had you followed when you left my tavern earlier," She explained, sounding more snotty than cold in her speech. "You led us right to those Spanish traitors, where we could burn them out of their rathole."

"You killed them," Marvian helped her finish while a smile on his face.

Athos and d'Artagnan exchanged worried glances. Although they wouldn't consider the group of Spanish -that they met earlier that night- their friends. They both felt a devastating blow at the thought of their deaths.

"WOMEN AND CHILDREN WERE DOWN THERE!" Athos shouted with a fury in his voice that made the man below him scoot back. He took a deep breath while closing his eyes. His head bothered him again, but it didn't consume him.

"The blood is on your boots, not ours," He finished while focusing on the man that seemed less human.

d'Artagnan instead looked away from the man disgusted and looked at Aramis, who oddly, at the moment, held a smile on his face. He looked back at Porthos who also held a smirk under his dark beard.

"Did I miss something, or is the death of innocents supposed to be funny," d'Artagnan rebuked them almost on the verge of yelling.

Athos turned around as well to look at them with confusion and wordlessly asked for an answer.

"Did your men return back to you after you sent them off?" Aramis asked Giselle with some sort of knowledge that she didn't possess.

She looked to Marvian that no longer held his dark smile on his face and stayed silent for the moment. He wasn't laughing anymore.

Porthos shook her, "Answer the man."

"They did not," Giselle answered realizing that something was wrong.

Marvian's face dropped in unapproval. He tried to grab her attention with a dark stare, but she refused to look back at him. His breathing became heavier than what it was a moment ago. It was more than his wound that bothered him now.

"Aramis?" Athos pulled on his friend's shoulder seeking an answer.

Aramis looked satisfied at their reactions when he turned to Athos who stared at him waiting impatiently for him to start talking. He pulled at the side of his mustache with his irresistible charm, then began his talk

"You and d'Artagnan were not the first people that Porthos and I fell into combat with when we rode here," Aramis explained.

With Aramis all smiles, Athos and d'Artagnan seemed to already know where their friend was heading with his story.

"The reason why we chased you down without thought, was because of the gentlemen we encountered on the road earlier. The ones, per say, that were trying to burn down a home filled with Spanish immigrants in a cellar."

Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder with his leather shoulder pad that was still missing from his own.

"I could kiss you," He said fully relived.

Aramis patted Athos hand with a reassuring smile, "Unless if I somehow return from the dead someday, then I give you permission to do so."

As the tables turned, Marvian's face had morphed into something that resembled that of his own dark heart. With every last ounce of strength he had left in him, his leg, opposite of the wounded one, sent d'Artagnan down on the barn flood along with him.

Before anyone could realize that their friend had taken a fall to the floor, Marvian had landed on top of the younger man and already had his bloody hands around d'Artagnan's throat, crushing the life out of him. The man's weight held him securely in place, and his dagger behind his back was unreachable. The sounds of d'Artagnan struggling for a breath of air alerted his friends nearby.

In an instance Athos, with the push of his boot on Marvian's side, sent the man on his back with a thud, that knocked all breath from him. This time the weight of Athos and Aramis held the man down in place with their leather boots on his chest. The man was struggling for air, while d'Artagnan was finding his.

"You alright?" Aramis asked reaching a hand out to a slightly injured d'Artagnan, who seemed more surprised than hurt.

"Fine," He coughed out while finding his feet again.

Marvian lay breathing heavily underneath the weight of the two musketeers. He occasionally wheezed to indicate his lack of comfort, that the musketeers didn't care for at present.

"And what would of the death of d'Artagnan done for you?" Aramis asked the traitor under his boot. "Passage to Heaven? Hmmmm? Because I think 'hands that shed innocent blood' is on God's hate list."

"Thou shalt not kill," Athos quoted while pulling back the hammer on his pistol. His finger moved closer to the trigger and stayed there for awhile, "I find that the most arduous commandment when there's people like you."

He pulled up his gun and rested it on his shoulder causing the man underneath him to finally breathe.

"I could of shot you dead, but I'm giving you a chance unlike that of the men that you murdered."

"A chance to do what?" Marvian spat.

"A chance to make amends for your criminality," Athos concluded.

"I did this all for the sake of my brother who was murdered by those God-forsaken Spanish and then were let free, while my brother still sleeps in his grave. I don't call it a criminal act."

The tears that streamed down Marvian's face were real. He honestly believed himself to be doing the right thing.

"It seems that you are more without God than that of the Spanish." Aramis pointed out accusedly.

"I only did this for my brother, all for my brother," Marvian said again, as if that was the only thing he could spit out in his rage.

Athos and Aramis pulled their boots off of the man and helped lift him to his wobbly feet. His pained expression gave the musketeers no pause as they fully lifted him up. What little pain he was in at present, was no match to the pain and grief he had caused them and the entire musketeer regiment.

"Since you did this all for your brother..." d'Artagnan took the honor of tying the man's hands together. "...your arrest is for all of mine."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The inn's lobby combined with its giant hearth, became once again a comfort and warmth to the two musketeers who sat closer to the fire than their last visit. With two extra in their company, the musketeers of four were finally collaborated together as one and decided to stay in the inn that had recently lost ownership a mere couple hours ago, to enjoy a few moments of refreshing themselves before duty called them to transport their detainees back to Paris for trial.

Their detainees, at the moment, enjoyed the scenery that the inn's cellar provided, while Porthos propped up his chair against the door's entrance and sat fast asleep allowing only the bravest of men to disturb him. Marvian gladly -for his benefit only- wasn't bleeding to death in the darkness of the cellar, although they had debated about not treating him, for Aramis was ordered to at least cover the wound, so that they would deliver their prisoner to Paris alive. It was a tough decision to make for all of them.

d'Artagnan worn out, but predicted to outlast them all, also fell under sleep's enchantment and lay halfway on a wooden table not containing the questionable liquid that was a few feet away still unwashed by the runaway serving girl. He had taken off his heavy, damp cloak in order to let it dry before their ride back to Paris in the morning. For now he was warm and thoroughly dried without it, lying nearer to the fire than all the rest. His incomparable youth to his friends had no more energy to gift him with for the night as he lay there getting a much deserved sleep.

Aramis wasn't finished with his medical duties for the night after sloppily attaching a torn bed sheet to the leg of Marvian earlier, for while Athos' crossed arms served as a pillow on the table for his head, Aramis tended to the gash on his scalp.

The deep cut was cleansed before anything else and Aramis started to dab at the wound gently. The water in the bowl ran red when he had squeezed every last drop from the cleanest rag he could find in the building. Now it was stained with the blood of one his closest friends that had flowed down the back of his neck and stained the back of his cloak that was now laying next to d'Artagnan's to dry.

A tankard full of an alcoholic beverage stayed in close proximity to Athos' reach during the procedure, but the man hadn't touched a drop and it stayed being a full tankard for a long period of time during the early hours of the next day.

He was as still as a stone statue and much quieter than his sleeping friends around him, yet he was fully awake. Aramis was used to his friend's complete stubbornness to be cared for, but respected the man's high tolerance to pain. It certainly wasn't the first time he had stitched him up, but it had been quite awhile.

Athos had never enjoyed bringing his pain to light and always preferred to not to mention anything while wearing his most miserable of faces instead. In most cases it tended to revolve around his past life that hurt him the deepest of all, and far more than any sword thrust through the belly could ever do. His heart carried the worst of wounds that could never be stitched.

In this special case Athos sat in front of Aramis and pulled off his cloak showing him the damage. Without a word between them, Aramis knew exactly what he was supposed to do and was actually pleased that his friend came to an understanding rather than a fight.

"About that sword duel we had earlier..." Aramis conversed while stitching the skin delicately and breaking the silence despite Porthos' snoring.

"Don't," Athos inserted rather quickly, before the man could gloat.

"I was only going to say that it was an unfair fight with your disability and that I won't hold it against you."

"No you weren't."

The thread pulled through a second time, with the result of a quick flinch from Athos.

"It wouldn't be any nicer than telling you that I'm currently the greatest swordsman in France since I bested you. That is, until your head fully recovers."

"Tommorrow."

"By tommorrow?" Aramis repeated, tasting the words on his tongue.

Athos stayed silent already knowing that his friend would carry on nevertheless and explain regardless of him caring or not. Which he didn't.

"I was thinking of a tournament just within our regiment," Aramis began his thought while putting the last stitches in Athos' scalp, "A sword dueling tournament. Ten livre per contestant. Sure you couldn't participate while you're recuperating from your injury, but you could judge. Our little fight gave me a confidence boost, and I think..."

"A rematch would suffice," Athos interrupted feeling the last poke of the needle enter through his sensitive skin.

Aramis stopped his threading and knotted at the end of the stitch before answering.

"No tournament?" He sounded slightly disappointed while packing up his things. "Why?"

Athos, realizing his friend was completed, stood up from the table and grabbing his drink, he downed it in one go. He tilted the cup more so than his head that seemed to be bothered by any quick movements.

"Because you're taking advantage of my misfortune for your benefit so that you can look good," Athos started walking over to the bar to refill his cup.

"That's not entirely true," Aramis smiled, "I already look good enough."

Athos slowly turned around to wipe off his friend's smile with his own disapproving look. It seemed to always work..

"So just a rematch?" Aramis confirmed.

"A twenty livre rematch, yes," Athos said with a smirk on his face that Aramis couldn't see.

"Twenty livre?"

"I did pass out a numerous amount of bribes today and would love to be reimbursed."

Aramis sighed and gave up trying to win the upper hand against this impossible man.

"That's fair. When?"

Athos thought on it for a moment, as if he was trying to find an answer to a question he already knew the answer to.

"Tomorrow," He answered suddenly.

"And what of your-?" Aramis didn't have to finish the sentence when he pointed right at Athos' head.

"Just a scratch."

"I don't make a habit of stitching up scratches. Unless you want to get beaten again, I'm pre..."

The rest of the word Aramis was trying to articulate was overpowered by a sound that resembled that of a lightning strike. The room exploded with a bang that shook the floor beneath them, as the front door to the inn flew open with a strong gust of wind that almost cracked the frame straight off. If it wasn't the sound that awakened the sleeping musketeers, it was the cold air from outside that rushed in like a violent hurricane, sweeping everyone off their feet.

Without looking to see who had thrown down the door, Athos grabbed at his musket, pressed the hammer down, and turned just in time to find his gun pointing exactly at one of the intruders. Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, from their various spots scattered across the room, had done the same. The standoff began as all weapons were all displayed and everyone had a shooting partner.

Athos' gun was aimed at the man that was known as Costas. He looked the same as before, if not a bit more worn, but his right hand was tightly wrapped in a crude bandage at his side, resulting from his attempt to punch Athos in the face earlier. Now his left hand took responsibility and held on to his musket pointed at Athos' head.

"Where is he?" Costas questioned in his Spanish accent that was almost too thick to understand at times. Despite that fact, his message was obviously clear. They came for Marvian, and nothing else.

"Who? Porthos answered the question with a question.

"Did you find him?" Costas ignored him and directed his question at Athos, whom he had hoped to answer it accordingly.

"You speak of Marvian?" Athos didn't answer accordingly. His musket didn't flinch from Costas as he spoke.

"Of course we speak of Marvian. Why else would we come here and seek you?" The grey-bearded one spoke. His two guns were trained on Aramis and d'Artagnan in the center of the room. Theirs were aimed at him.

"Feel free to search for him, but you'll need to go through us first," d'Artagnan added for good measure, "And you're outnumbered at the moment."

The Spanish brothers didn't have to look at each other to acknowledge the amusement written on their faces. The next second included that of the three brothers lowering their weapons and placing it in the holsters at their sides.

"French. Always jumping to conclusions," Costas said while sticking out his unwrapped hand for Athos to shake.

Surprised by the sudden mood change, Athos responded by accepting the handshake, still unknowing why the men were here.

"I could say the same of you," He said with confusion spread in his voice. He kept his musket at his side for good measure. His friends did the same.

"This was our mess to begin with," The youngest brother, who lowered his weapon away from Porthos, started. "Even though we didn't take part in killing your friends, their deaths are bearing down on our conscience."

"We came to offer you our help in ridding your country of this disease, before it spreads any further," Costas finished and then bowed in service to the musketeers. All three of them did in unison.

"Many years have we despised your kind and all you stand for. All because of the single act of your friend's brother and his raping of our sister," The eldest brother explained.

"Technically, I wouldn't call him a friend anymore," d'Artagnan interrupted in a hushed tone that only Aramis could hear. Aramis facial expression was one of agreement.

"We shouldn't judge all for the act of one. And you have proved to us that you are worthy of being respected."

Costas turned to Aramis and Porthos extended his hand to both of them,"You have saved our lives and the lives of our families this evening. We owe you thanks and we offer our services in return."

"And I thought this day was done with surprises," d'Artagnan directed at Aramis and Porthos, who were more relaxed as the intruders were not so hostile.

"We 'ave said that we stopped a riot on the way 'ere, didn't we?" Porthos smugly replied to the young d'Artagnan.

"You failed to mention that you actually spoke with them."

Aramis smiled brightly, "You know us. Always stopping to get the praise."

Costas reached Athos and this time put a hand on his shoulder. He immediately noticed the dried blood that had stained Athos' white shirt, "My actions earlier were inexcusable and I understand if you don't forgive me for it."

Athos looked at the man's eyes that no longer held the fire that once was in them. In every way the man was sincere. Athos reached his hand up and covered the man's hand.

"No I don't," Athos said with his own sincerity in his voice, causing the man to be slightly confused, "I understand what compelled you and I have already forgiven you."

Costas smiled out of relief and squeezed his new friend's shoulder.

"You are not to blame for any of this in any way," Aramis found himself saying to break the newfound silence, "Marvian was mad and uncontrollable. He's the one to blame. Not you, nor your brothers, or anyone else. You don't owe no man anything."

"Your offer of your services is appreciated, but not practical," Athos added. "Marvian is in our custody and will stand on trial once we arrive back in Paris a few hours from now. Porthos, on his own, could handle Marvian without our help, but we wish to deliver him alive to our commanding officer, so our participation is necessary. Yours is not."

The brothers looked disappointed, but not angry at being basically referred to as useless.

"At least let us stay for the night and assist you in keeping the prisoner contained," Costas pleaded with them.

"Tell me, then how can we trust that you are all not here just to take your revenge and kill Marvian during the night?" d'Artagnan asked out of suspicion.

The brothers looked downward to think on the question a bit more further.

"You can't," Costas said with sadness in his voice, "But know this; that we once killed a musketeer and reaped the consequences of our actions, no matter how much they deserved to be in death's embrace. We give you our word, with what little dignity we have left. Marvian deserves to die, but not by our hand."

Everyone stood at a standstill, almost like earlier, except without everyone staring down the barrel of a gun. The roaring hearth in the corner, crackled and popped disturbing the silence.

"That was irrefutable," Athos commented, clearly in awe of the events that had taken place in the entirety of the day and their sudden change of spirit from before.

The musketeers, even though they were a company already of four, couldn't say no to the three brothers who felt obligated to stay and assist. Sending any man back out into the cold at the very early hours of that morning, was a question that needed not to be asked or even considered. The musketeer's guns were holstered and the door was closed on the party of men in the Inn, that was already chilled from the moments of the door being open to the winter air.

"There is no objections, so we invite you to stay in our company," Aramis wandered to where Athos stood and poured up a tankard then handed it to Costas nearby, "Friend."

Costas took of the drink and nodded to all the men in the room.

"Friends," He agreed and drank the contents of the cup.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The Paris streets resumed its daily routine, as if, the execution that morning had not disrupted its normality. The market shops were crammed with its faithful attendees. The cobbled streets were aligned with stage coaches embarking off to the distant cities with the moneyed folks in its compartments. The weather, though still a bit cold, kept not even the misers in their households. Compared to the frigid weather a few days ago, the morning had declared that spring was nearing its season.

No one brooded on the death of the man known as Marvian when the sun shed light on a bloody wooden pedestal in a secluded court outside of the Louvre. Thoughts were focused rather on the optimistic things that Paris brought to the residents of its city, rather than the gory details of political affairs.

One could not stand to dwell on the depravity that was always in existence and in the heart of every man. Sometimes it was better for the people to forget that they lived in a hardened world full of unexplainable evils and venture off to the market without knowing that a beheading was in occurrence.

Past a few days since the musketeer Elloy was found dangling from the garrison roof, it had all but been forgotten by the countless numbers of individuals that walked passed the garrison on a daily basis. For the musketeer garrison, the stains of deception had yet remained, but the brutality of the moment had passed on like a distant memory. Hardships were part of the job title, but were not to be dwelt on. Another hardship was always just around the corner.

It took Captain Treville the entirety of Marvian's trial to come to the realization that he was in fact was guilty. It didn't rest on the fact that Treville refused to believe all that was told to him by his inseparable four musketeers, but that Marvian, like all the musketeers in the garrison, counted to him as a friend and ally for many years in the past.

The man was a loyal servant to the crown and never had shown the character to perform in the manner of which he did. What Treville did not see was the build up of bitterness that the man had stored up inside and how it consumed him over the years. The man had turned himself into a rabid dog and had finally released himself.

Treville almost refused to watch the execution take place, but stood his ground as the blade swung across the accused man's head and the blood flowed freely unto the wooden planks below. Marvian's echoed words before the sword came in contact with his neck, still wandered around the court eerily like a ghost haunting all the men that had watched him die.

"FOR MY BROTHER...For My Brother..for my brother," His voice bounced off the palace walls until it faded away and the noise of a normal Paris day revolved around all those in attendance.

It was an perceivable fact that the ones who were in attendance, included them who had secretly found out the betrayer in the first place. Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, more rested up then they ever been the entirety of that week, stood at attention, while covered in worn leather and elegant blue capes draped across their shoulders.

Of course -on their opposite shoulder- was adorned the seal of their dedication to the crown. The simple fleur de lis stamped on a piece of leather, didn't feel as good as it did at the moment when Athos and d'Artagnan had their shoulder pads returned to them the day they entered in Paris with the traitor Marvian. The familiar weight of it gave them a certain balance.

Treville left the disgraceful scene and walked with a saddened step out of the court and into the palace. He waited until all four of his most trusted musketeers were in step behind him, knowing that they would follow him to the end. Taking his strides on the marble floors at a leisurely pace, he finally turned around to his men after a moment of thought.

"There's a taint on our reputation now at court," Treville began.

Athos rolled his eyes nonchalantly while taking a deep breath.

"When is that ever not the case?" He scoffed in annoyance at all the slack their regiment has taken over the years.

"One rotten apple and people believe for the whole bushel to be bad," Porthos remarked. He seemed to be containing his anger at the moment. He held no smile on his face that morning.

Treville silently agreed with the expression he wore on his face, but he still looked to be lost in thought. The weight of the whole affair rested on his shoulders. To the king, everything was on his head. The days past held many times in audience with the king that included a reprimand of some sort. Treville was always to blame. The musketeers were always at fault.

This time a musketeer was held accountable for the occurrences that had taken place, but it was few and far between. The musketeers being a loyal bunch, never lived up to the bad reputation that was gossiped about. The rumors always were proven wrong, the lies always covered by the truth.

"Marvian was always a faithful soldier," Treville spoke honestly. "Why he did what he did I'll never understand, but I pray that the king will forget this embarrassment by tomorrow. I can't endure through another scolding."

"It will pass soon enough, " Aramis said optimistically although without a smile this time. The morning's affairs left everyone resembling the look Athos wore on a daily basis. "We need to move on."

Treville bit his lip and pushed a hand through his hair. His free hand held out to his feathered hat at his side.

"Aramis is right. And we shouldn't sulk in melancholia about this," He said in his commanding tone that brought his men to their senses, "Once again I thank you for bringing this messy business to a close. It may have dampened at our spirits, but our duty remains the same and we need not to let it interfere with our responsibilities. I only wish that we would of known of Marvian's deception sooner, but it was meant not to be known until now."

"Gifford and Elloy did. And they died because of it," d'Artagnan said in commemoration of his lost friends.

"They died in 'onor," Porthos said while removing his hat in respect of them. Athos and Aramis imitated his small gesture of reverence and then returned their hats back to their rightful place on their heads after a moment of silence. Athos' always at a crooked position to hide half his features, or maybe his sorrows. D'Artagnan, without a hat of his own, only stood at attention as his friends gave their respects.

"Respectively, the matter is not entirely closed," Athos finally spoke.

The palace seemed to have grown quieter since the group of men began their talk among the corridors of the palace, but since the sentence had left Athos' mouth not one footstep echoed in the marble floored halls at present. The peacocks in their song was all that sounded during their moment of confusion. Captain Treville's bemused expression, wordlessly gave Athos the permission to continue.

"The business regarding the Whitman's Inn that is left to no proprietor," Athos continued with all attention directed at him.

"I am aware of that," Treville said in confusion, "Marvian's mistress will be detained in the conciergerie for quite some time."

"And what of the Inn?"

"There's no one to run the establishment, so I imagine its business days are over. Why?"

Not even Athos' friends knew where he was heading with the conversation until that very moment. As one mind they all turned to each other and realized just what their friend was implying.

"I know who can run it," Athos said with a determination that caused the room's atmosphere to change from disheartenment to that of hope.

"It's a perfect choice," Aramis spoke out already knowing the man's proposition without Athos ever spelling it out.

"What-is?" Treville said the words slowly. He seemed annoyed that he didn't understand what the men were going on about. His creased forehead said it all.

"We're goin' to need that deed," Porthos added.

"For-WHO?" Treville's voice tried to raise a step higher in volume, but it was still ignored.

"And permission to have the remainder of the day for personal business," d'Artagnan hinted towards the captain, who was on the verge of losing his temper.

They all stopped when they noticed the captain wasn't exactly pleased with their behavior at the moment. He stared at each one of them, as if, he wished to see them all beheaded on the platform still drying of Marvian's blood, or even hanging from one the garrison's rooftops so that everyone would see their humiliation. It didn't matter which, as long as it was painful for all four of them.

"I will give you no deed and no time off to do anything, unless you tell me exactly what you are planning on doing. Word for word," Treville angrily ordered them in a hushed tone that only partly echoed down the hall, "Or I will make sure that all of you will all get time off permanently from this regiment."

Treville's face was the closest to Athos' at the moment of his speech.

"EXPLAIN NOW!"

Athos didn't flinch, nor was stirred by the raised voice of his captain. He stood at attention -not once showing a lack of respect for the superiority of his commanding officer- and waited until the echo of the last words faded away into nothing so that he could explain himself.

Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan didn't once interject themselves while he did so.

* * *

Even a small tap on the cellar door by Athos' hand, gave a thundering boom on the wooden entrance that echoed across the vacant farmland. The owners of the small piece of property with the agreeably sized shack, were most likely unaware that their cellar supported a number of Spanish families over the winter months. Where their Spanish friends would reside once the spring season would materialize, they had no way of knowing, but the life of a squatter had no easy explanation.

A baby's cry was the first thing that reached the ears of the four musketeers who waited patiently for the door to reveal the homeless group of Spanish. Despite their downfalls in the past, not one of the foursome had a lack of sympathy for the family that the cellar door opened up to.

Upon seeing his musketeer friends at his doorstep, Armed -the eldest of the brothers- greeted them with a welcoming smile that contained some suspicion. Unaware of why they were intervening in their daily affairs, Armed still let the group of musketeers enter into their stolen cellar home.

It was much like the last time Athos and d'Artagnan had visited the crowded space, but now with four in their own group, the small room became more compacted. Aramis and Porthos looked over the unknown room with a sense of compassion. Every detail was taken in in the short matter of seconds as they started walking down the stairs.

Porthos, understanding a bit more of this family's predicament then his friends, was reminded of the horrors he had endured as a young man growing up among the homeless and diseased in the Court of Miracles. Silently the memories returned to him like a wave of nausea and he suddenly felt alone in the quiet pain. Then as usual, a temper flared under his skin and he wore his expressions like an open book.

Aramis noticing his friends dispirited look, gave him a pat on the shoulder; wordlessly reminding him that he was nearby. The simple act of support, brought Porthos back to his senses, but still left him in his sympathetic mood.

"It was rumored that Marvian was sentenced to die," Costas spoke while coming through the doorway from behind them. The musketeers turned to the familiar voice of their friend. No visual was on the man outside upon their arrival, but they immediatly realized that he was on lookout duty. His fatigued eyes and sluggish movements confirmed that he spent his last couple hours watching out for intruders such as themselves.

"It was just carried out this morning," d'Artagnan assured him while watching the man's worried expression turn to one of relief. The happiness that plagued the room at that moment was evident as the brothers all shared an embrace with each other and their lovers. The moments of celebration were short lived for people of their kind, but were treasured.

Aramis laid a hand on Costas' shoulder to show his congratulation.

"I can't promise that no one will ever try to hurt you or your family again," He tried to explain, "But the probability has dramatically decreased."

Costas exchanged a nod and a handshake with his musketeer friend.

"We thank you for bringing this news directly to our ears and we thank you for doing us a service we can never repay. Our family is safe because of your kindness."

Athos stepped forward, but didn't shake the hand that was extended to him as he did so.

"That's not why we are here," His dark tone quieted the entirety of the room and caused all smiles to vanish away for the moment. Costas returned his hand to his side already guessing at what the musketeer's true intentions were.

"Trespassing on private property is illegal," Athos said bluntly, "Residing here is no longer an option for you."

The news came like a punch to the gut. Costas and his brothers remained on their positions on the floor without moving.

"Then tell us what option do we have?" Costas said in spite. His lips pressed together in rage.

"The option to pack your bags and leave this filth pot," Porthos professed. All manner of his earlier sympathetic spirit had dissolved.

"There is no hope in changing men of your kind," Armed spat coldly. "Have you no kindness left from what you have shown us before? Or was that kindness at all?"

"Don't question our motives here," d'Artagnan argued. "We are only obeying our orders."

The younger brother pointed to his children nearby, "Where do you expect us to go then? To live like animals in the woods? Is that your orders? To have us all die a slow and agonizing death in the bitter cold?"

"I don't think you understa-" Aramis tried to interject himself in the pool of questions that flowed in the room.

"NO! It's you who does not understand," The young man pointed his dirty finger in Aramis' face. The raised volume of the man, made the room's atmosphere quieted and discerning.

"We understand fairly well," Athos emphasized while trying to break up any manner of a fight that was in formation. He began to reach in his leather pouch at his side, but was stopped by Costas' hand that restrained his arm from moving it any further.

"At least give us till spring, " Costas pleaded, "Spring isn't that far off."

"It's far enough now."

"You cannot expect us to travel in this weather and try to find shelter. Our wives and children will freeze."

"You are just as likely to freeze in 'ere." Porthos added.

Athos shook off the man's grip and fully reached into his pocket to locate a form of some sort, as if, he was unmoved by the statement the man had just made and continued on to evict them.

"And you cannot expect Whitman's Inn to make business without a proprietor do you?" Athos asked while sliding the deed into Costas' bruised hand.

"What?"

Costas unfolded the piece of parchment that was given him and his eyes fell on the french words that he somewhat struggled to translate. The obvious nature of the deed was evident, so his eyes didn't need to translate every word to be able to understand. He looked up at his musketeer friends and immediately passed off the paper to his brothers and begin to speak in his Spanish tongue, something that no one but Aramis could understand. Aramis smiled when he heard their talk.

"What he say?" d'Artagnan whispered to his friend.

Aramis leaned in closer to the young musketeer and keeping his voice low said, "That we are very good liars."

"I was wrong," Costas said guiltily to Athos. "It is us Spanish that always seem to jump to conclusions." The deed fell back into his hands as he looked over it once again."We know nothing of running an inn," He also added.

"If you can run a family, you can undoubtedly run an inn," Athos implied.

"Is it legal?"

"More legal than what you're doing now," d'Artagnan pointed out.

The brothers laughed out of relief and the instant change on their faces was perceivable. A certain burden lifted off their shoulders on that day, more so than when the news of Marvian's death had reached their ears.

"How can we repay you?" Armed finally said after letting the news sink in. He had, at least, read the deed a dozen times already.

"Take care of your family and the business, and it counts as such," Aramis answered him.

Armed nodded and kept his mouth sealed as the tears ran down his cheeks. Costas spoke up instead.

"If your duty ever takes you to Whitman's Inn, drinks will always be on the house for our friends. It is the very least we can do," He said while also wiping his eyes.

Athos extended his hand with a smile on his face and felt as Costas gripped it with the same hand that he almost sent into Athos' face a couple nights prior.

"I'll take that as a yes," Athos said while turning to the door above him and pushing it upward. "Now leave."

"Now?" Costas said in surprisal. "We need-"

"A cart?" Porthos interrupted. "I didn't drive one over just for myself."

"Don't make us ask you a second time." d'Artagnan said in mockery with a smile.

Costas smiled right back. Without a second thought, he ran over to his family and packed away what little he owned, along with his brothers who followed suit. Not one more singular question was asked while they did so, for at that moment they placed all doubts aside and accomplished what they were asked to do without disobedience.

Only once had a musketeer let them down, but the memory of it soon faded away.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

The wagon full of women and children, that were covered in cloaks and bedding, held on to bags of provisions and simple belongings that they held dear. Not once did they give cause to complain about the lack of space that the cart contained, when they were so used to circumstances quite like these. What awaited them down the road a bit farther gave them reason to not give protests against their predicament. Three Spanish brothers, who were either husbands, fathers, sons, or friends to the people in the cart, rode in front of them leading them home.

The Spanish language that escaped out of the children's mouths along the journey, gave Porthos a smile as he drove the cart through the partly melted snow covered highway. Their squeaky voices were not understandable to the West African/French man, but the excitement sensed in their words was. One even tried to say in crude French -with his mother's help- that he wished to drive the cart. The picture of Porthos holding a child on his lap with the reins of the horse in the kid's smallish hands gave the three musketeers, following closely behind the cart, the permission to laugh at the unusual sight.

"He's never going to live this one down," d'Artagnan laughed at Porthos who turned around suddenly and gave him a deathly stare after realizing that they were talking about him.

"He's secretly loving it," Aramis' snarky comment was followed with a wide grin on his face for Porthos' behalf.

Athos quietly riding at the rear, pushed his horse a bit more to catch up to d'Artagnan and Aramis who continued to tease their friend.

"You should trade positions with him Aramis," Athos hinted in whisper. "Get a little practice."

The smile quickly wiped off of Aramis' face as Athos bluntly gave his opinion. The stare Aramis gave his friend told him to stay quiet, but it gained no upper hand in the silent conversation they had with their brooding eyes. How the queen's pregnancy came to be, was undisclosed information that stayed strictly between the two of them. And Aramis desired for it to stay that way.

"Practice?" d'Artagnan, only hearing the end of the conversation, asked while looking over at Aramis who was exchanging his hardened look with Athos.

"Nothing," Aramis said quickly returning to his normal attitude of optimism while Athos remained being his desensitized self. "Athos apparently doesn't know any good jokes."

"That duel we had while I was partially disabled, you remember?" Athos referred to the rematch he partook of against Aramis in a sword duel a day after they returned to Paris. The twenty livre rematch.

Aramis already hoped that his friend had forgotten it, but quickly answered with a quiet yes so that the conversation would end much more sooner.

"The one where I beat you," Athos reminded him while rubbing the back of his head now freed of stitches, "That was a joke."

Aramis looked over to his friend that now displayed a look of cockiness written all over his face. He took a deep breath of air and nodded in half agreement.

"But you weren't partially disabled," He said while d'Artagnan looked on amused at their conversation, "That was only just a scratch."

"Scratch or no, you still owe me."

"Twenty livre was it?" d'Artagnan imputed, resulting in death stare from Aramis this time.

Aramis, raising up slightly from his saddle, reached at his side for his coin purse that he threw without warning to his friend. Athos caught the unexpected gift instinctively and placed it in his saddle bag. A nod of thanks was added.

"Don't bet on duels you can't win, Aramis," Athos quipped as he gained speed to join Porthos and his babysitting activities. He didn't turn around to see his friend's disapproval of the matter written on his face.

"He's not gonna let that one go for awhile," d'Artagnan remarked while giving a rap on Aramis' shoulder for encouragement.

"No," Aramis said trying to reverse back to a happier time when he wasn't so broke, "No, he's not."

He stayed behind as d'Artagnan caught up to the cart full of Spanish young ones and spent the remainder of the trip occasionally wishing that he had won that second fight and that Athos would be less self-conceited.

But that was never going to happen.


End file.
